


Show Me How to Fake It (Touch Me in the Dark)

by flashindie



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn Star AU, Rough Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 47,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: “Annie, how much do you think porn pays?” Ruby asks her, pinching one of the cocktails, and Annie blinks up at her.“What?”“Your sister’s curious,” Ruby says slyly, tilting her head towards Beth, who flushes a little, sucking on the straw of her cocktail. “Clearly brushing up for trivia night.”-Hey, look, it's a Brio Pornstar!AU!
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 271
Kudos: 1022





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first AU in the fandom :'-) 
> 
> Hope you like it!

The thing is, underneath it all, underneath the anger and the betrayal and the humiliation and the grief, when it’s all dredged from the riverbanks of her consciousness, the hardened earth of her bones, all that’s left is relief.

Which is strange, she thinks, because so much is left uncertain. All her plans unmade, the map she’d set for her life re-routed, and if she’s honest, she’s not sure her future has ever been so vague, so malformed, but where there should be panic and desperation, anxiousness and loss, Beth packs up the last box of her husband’s things and thinks _good_.

At least, she does until the reality sets in.

*

“And may the door hit him on the way out,” Annie says with a grin, throwing back her tequila and slamming the shot glass down hard on the table, smacking her lips in show. Beth rolls her eyes, downing her own a little more gracefully.

“We’re trying to keep it civil for the kids,” she reminds her, but Annie scoffs, waves a hand at her before gesturing the bartender over for another round.

“Still think you should lawyer up, B,” Ruby tells her across the table. “I wouldn’t put it past Deansy to try and wriggle out of paying child support.”

“And how am I paying for this lawyer?” Beth asks, her throat burning from tequila as the bartender sets them up with another round. God, how’s she paying for any of it? It’s not like Dean’s got money to spare right now, not after spending it all on lingerie and expensive dates for one of his many girlfriends. She inhales sharply, shifts back in her seat.

“I can talk to Tony at the diner,” Ruby offers. “I mean, the money’s not great, and the customers are awful, but occasionally you get someone who actually tips.”

“And I could definitely get Boomer to hire you at Fine and Frugal,” Annie adds. “But I don’t think there’s any way he wouldn’t dial his creep factor up to eight billion and he’s already at a solid 6.”

The sounds of the bar suddenly takes up too much room in Beth’s head – the slightly too-loud thrum of bass-heavy music she’s never heard of, the drunken woos of a bachelorette party, the sound of a glass smashing, a door slamming, a man’s braying laugh. And Beth smiles at them as best she can, grateful, because she is, of _course_ she is, only Ruby’s got Stan’s income to boost her own, and Annie’s able to scrape by in her tiny apartment with her one child on her Fine and Frugal salary and Greg’s support, but Beth can’t even begin to imagine it. Not in her house ( _three mortgages_ , she thinks bleakly, _on the one house_ ), not with the four kids too, not with them so little still and so hungry. She’d have to hire babysitters, or pay for afterschool care to work, and that would eat up her paycheck faster than she could earn it.

“Thanks,” Beth says still, painting on the best grin she can manage. “That’d be amazing.”

And right, she thinks, watching Ruby and Annie see straight through her. She needs newer friends, she thinks, self-deprecating. Newer friends who can’t read her like an open book, who don’t know exactly how far up shit’s creek she really is. Her hand reaches up, fiddling with her necklace, turning the warm gold-plated bar in her fingers and has another drink.

“Welp, great,” Annie says suddenly, breaking up the quiet with a loud, forced-lightness to her voice. “Now that we’re all thoroughly depressed, we have more important matters to discuss. Like getting _you_ back on the horse. The _sex_ horse.”

It’s enough to make Beth flush and for Ruby to close her eyes in the sort of horror only Annie can really inspire.

“Please never say sex horse again,” she says, and Annie laughs, opening her mouth to reply, which Beth takes as her own opportunity to promptly interrupt.

“I am not even remotely ready for sex, on a horse or otherwise,” Beth tells her, because god, is she not. She hasn’t even had sex with _Dean_ in years, and it’s not like she’s about to tell Annie and Ruby that, but still. She opens her mouth to say something, to justify it somehow, when Annie continues:

“Doesn’t have to be with anybody else,” she says with a shrug. “I mean, not to be crass or whatever, but when was the last time you jacked off?”

“ _Annie_ ,” Ruby groans as Beth flushes fuchsia

“What? It’s _healthy_ ,” Annie insists, waving her drink at them. “An orgasm a day has like, proven health benefits, and I refuse to believe that Dean is even _remotely_ capable of giving anyone an orgasm, so.”

And - - well, it’s not like she’s exactly wrong on that count. Still, Beth has a long drink of her cocktail, muddling the lime at the bottom of her glass with the straw.

“Maybe it’s been a while. I don’t know. I’m not good at that sort of thing,” Beth says flippantly, fiddling with her straw, and Annie squints back at her across the table.

“What? Masturbating?”

Beth blushes to the roots of her hair.

“Trust me, I’m fine with the - -” Beth tries to find the word. “ _Mechanics_. It’s - - I don’t know. I can never really think of anything, so then I just feel stupid and - -”

“You don’t have any fantasies?” Ruby asks, interjecting, her forehead furrowed. She pauses, and it almost seems to cause her physical pain when she asks: “Nothing to call back on at all with Dean?”

And well, Beth thinks, there probably is, maybe, just all her Dean memories feel tainted now, and it’s not like he was ever the sexiest man in the world. Or even the room.

Even rooms with like, just him in them.

She snorts a little to herself.

That’s not to say that they didn’t have fun sometimes, but that’s what sex was with Dean. At best – cute, sweet, affectionate, at worst – well.

“You could try a romance novel or something. Try a little _50 Shades_ ,” Ruby says sympathetically, and Annie scoffs.

“Please. Try porn.”

“Annie!” Ruby hisses again, and Beth practically melts back in her seat to get herself out of the conversation. Annie just rolls her eyes at Ruby.

“What, like you’ve never watched porn. You’ve told me about yours and Stan’s _movie nights_.”

Which is certainly news to Beth. She blinks wildly over at Ruby, who’s giving Annie a supremely unimpressed look.

“Remind me never to get high with you again.”

Annie makes a mouth with her hand, moving it in a _blah blah blah_ gesture which has Ruby rolling her eyes, and Beth just - - she reels around before she can help it, a slightly betrayed lilt to her voice when she asks:

“You and Stan watch porn?”

Thing is, Ruby doesn’t even look bashful, let alone embarrassed. She takes a sip of her drink, just sort of shrugs as she does it, and there must be a look on Beth’s face, because suddenly Ruby’s dropping her drink and sitting up a little straighter.

“We’re very selective about what we watch,” she says defensively. “Not like this one.”

She jerks her head over at Annie who fake gasps.

“But sure,” Ruby continues, easing up a bit again. “Gets us in the mood sometimes, and it’s certainly inspired us once or twice. To try something new, I mean.”

Leaning back into the booth, Beth turns the thought over in her head, considering it. Thing is, she can _kind of_ see it maybe, for Ruby and Stan. They’ve always been easy with each other, enough she can see them joking about it, enjoying it, touching each other gently, tenderly, in that way that they do.

Dean had suggested it once too, but Beth had adamantly declined. After all, she’d seen the sort that he’d watched more times than she’d ever wanted to (he’s never been particularly good at clearing his browsing history) and it had often made her feel a little ill. It had all just been so - - _aggressive_.

She doesn’t even have to say it for Ruby to seem to pick up on it. She puts down her drink.

“There’s a lot out there, B, and a lot of different types. Some of it is _totally_ foul, but some of it…” she shrugs. “You’ve just got to find what feels right.”

“I don’t know,” Beth says, scrunching up her nose, and Annie shakes her head, grabbing her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans.

“I’m gonna send you some,” she decides, and Beth and Ruby both scoff. “No, seriously. I’ve got some thoughts, y’know? I’m very well-read. Well-watched? Well-porned? Whatever. I’ve got you, sis.”

“Okay, I’m getting another drink.” Beth says loudly, scooting out of the booth, and Ruby makes an agreeable noise in the back of her throat, gesturing to her own glass and saying _please_.

*

And okay, so maybe Beth’s a _little_ drunk by the time she’s stumbling in through the front door of her house, shushing herself breathlessly, giggling and then groaning when she rolls her ankle trying to kick off her pumps. She’s more than a little glad Dean’s mom had insisted on taking the kids for a special weekend to the lake while her and Dean got things settled this week, meaning Beth doesn’t feel too badly about pouring herself a bourbon and stumbling around the stairs towards bed.

She falls back into it, awkwardly shoving down her stockings, wriggling back on the mattress as she grabs her cell and checks her phones for any messages, rolling her eyes when she sees the one from Annie that just says ‘ _Home safe. Check your emails’_ and then features the splashing water emoji about a hundred times.

Tossing her phone down her bed, Beth looks at her glass of bourbon, looks at herself, lying down in bed, and tries to pour some into her mouth only to get it all over her chin and neck. Spluttering, she sits up quickly, wiping at her face, looking around the room for a tissue, only - -

Her laptop is on the top of her dresser.

Beth blinks, looking at her phone, squinting at it, like Annie has somehow magicked up the ability to put her laptop directly into her line of sight, and then rolls to her feet. She stumbles over to her laptop, grabs it, stumbles straight back to bed, dropping onto the mattress and loading up the screen.

The email from Annie has the subject line INCOGNITO MODE, HONEY B, and the body of the email is nothing but links, maybe ten of them, a couple from different websites, but most of them from the same one – _Thank You Ma’am_ , which is kinda funny, Beth thinks, clicking on one only to promptly slam her laptop shut at the image of a large, hairy man eating out a woman in a flower crown while a skinny blonde woman in a strap-on lines up against his ass.

She blinks.

Hard.

Right, she thinks, grabbing her bourbon off her bedside table, polishing it off and inhaling sharply.

She opens her laptop again, quickly x’ing out of the video, and glancing back through the links, biting her lip, and clicking on the one that looks safest titled ‘Sensual Massage’.

And, okay, it’s just a woman, sitting on the edge of a massage table, dressed in short, floaty sundress, her legs dangling off the table. She brushes her hair back behind her ears, staring around the room, fiddling with the strap on her dress when suddenly the door opens and a man walks in and Beth just - - blinks.

He’s just - - not what she expected. Lean and handsome, all sharp cheekbones and pouting lips, big dark eyes, and Beth finds herself shifting forwards a little, slightly closer to the screen. He’s dressed in a what almost looks like scrubs, white, the pants a little tight, showing off a pretty intimidating bulge. 

“Oh! There you are,” the woman says. “I was starting to wonder if I had the wrong room.”

“Sorry, just finishin’ up with another client.”

It’s the sound of him, she thinks, that makes something in her lurch, that makes her tongue dart out, wet her lips, before she can help herself. Deep, gravelly, the sort of rolling purr that Beth doesn’t think she’s ever heard in real life – a million miles away from Dean’s nasal stutter, and Beth just - -

She _likes_ it.

“You know, it’s been years since I’ve done anything like this,” the woman says, biting her lip, and the guy steps towards her, unthreatening, gentle almost, as he says:

“That’s okay. We can take it slow, if you want.”

It only makes the woman giggle, a little sultry, her tone veering into an obviously put-upon shyness.

“Maybe just to start.”

With that, she promptly pulls off her dress, revealing nothing underneath but small, perky breasts and a shaved - - well, _everything_ , and Beth blinks, fumbles forwards almost in shock, blinking rapidly as the woman turns slowly on the table, sliding her nude body face down, exposing what has to be one of the best asses Beth has ever seen.

The man moves almost like liquid behind her, just pouring into her space, before stroking one large hand down her back, gently gliding over her ass, before down to her thighs, her calves, and then back up again before - - suddenly, sharp as anything, slapping her ass. The woman gasps and Beth’s thighs clench, her eyes blinking rapidly, as she watches the man step away, grabbing some massage oil, pouring some generously onto her hands and starting to slowly knead her back.

Moaning, the woman leans forwards into the table, spreading her legs as the man works his way down her back.

“You’ve got a beautiful body,” he says. “Gotta say, can’t really believe you havin’ to come in here to pay to unwind, darlin’.”

“My husband does try,” she titters breathlessly as his hands start to knead her ass, his long fingers starting to stroke between her legs. “But he just can’t quite get to those hard to reach spots. I was told that wouldn’t be a problem with you.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had any complaints,” he replies, slipping a finger inside her, starting to pump in and out of her, adding a second, and it’s not long before the woman is writhing against the massage table, keening, and the man is purring over her, moving gracefully, and Beth’s cheeks are so red, her arms stiff, eyes wide as she watches him fuck her with his fingers, and then the woman’s coming, and quick as anything, he’s flipping her over and pulling what has to be the biggest - - biggest _penis_ \- - Beth has ever seen out of his thin pants, and she has to resist the urge to slam the laptop screen shut again.

“You weren’t kidding,” the woman says hungrily, and the guy, he just laughs, yanking her to the edge of the massage table and then he’s sitting her up, dropping his head to suck at her breasts before he pushes into her in one smooth motion.

The woman cries out, long and loud, and Beth’s almost jittery with energy, her lips wet but her mouth dry, heat coursing through her in a way she can’t quite explain.

“You’re so big!”

“You can take it though, can’t you, baby? Ain’t your pussy hungry for it?”

“Yes!”

“Been a while since she been full, huh?”

“Yes! Yes!”

And Beth’s suddenly shifting back in the bed – can’t take it anymore, her fingers pulling up her dress before pushing into her panties, and god, she can’t remember a time she’s ever been this wet. Her thighs are trembling by the time she finds her clit, rubbing a wobbly circle with her fingers, her body shuddering awake beneath her own touch. She watches him fuck this woman on the massage table, bending her back over it, hiking her legs up almost to his armpits, driving into her.

“You feelin’ me in those hard to reach places?” he purrs, and the woman’s almost sobbing when his hand comes to roughly rub her clit, his other hand groping at her small breast. Beth’s free hand reaches up to find her own, squeezing it before she even knows what she’s doing. “Ain’t right, a woman like you goin’ without. That husband o’ yours ever fuck you this good?”

“No,” she cries out, and Beth’s eyelashes flutter shut, moving her hand, pushing a finger inside herself, leaving her thumb to rub at her own clit, making an awkward, unpracticed motion of fucking herself. 

“Ain’t no one ever gonna fuck you this good,” he says, and Beth’s toes curl in the sheets. “I’m sorry, baby. I know that ain’t fair.”

The woman’s moaning non-stop now, scrambling at his back as he fucks her onto him. The liquid lines of his body on hers like watching a wave crash against the shore.

“But we got right now, huh? And your cunt is so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ slick. She takes my cock so _well_.”

Beth’s fingers are working faster, more erratically, and it’s not long before she’s toppled over the edge, so hard she almost collapses back against the bedhead. When her eyes flutter back open, the man is swapping open mouthed kisses with the woman, his hands tugging at her nipples, his cum dripping out of her, her hands on his flaccid cock, slowly getting him hard again, and right Beth thinks, biting her lip, starting to move her fingers again, feeling her too-sensitive walls clench around them, and right she thinks, pulling her fingers out and slamming her laptop shut.

Right. 

*

(Maybe she finishes it in the morning before she has to pick the kids up from Judith’s.

Twice.)

*

“Danny, be careful!”

It’s at least enough to make him stop, his blue eyes bright and impossibly big, his mouth turned down.

“I was,” he calls back, hopping off his little scooter like he wasn’t trying to do jumps on it off the patio, and Beth gives him her best Mom Stare through the backdoor window. He frowns, but at least looks reprimanded enough to drop his scooter to the grass and dart across to the back of the yard where Emma’s playing tea party with her stuffed animals, no doubt to cause mayhem there instead.

“Jeez, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” Annie says somewhere down the hall, and Beth spins around to see Annie hovering in the doorway of Dean’s old study, taking in the now empty room. “What are you going to do with it?”

Beth just sighs, because isn’t that the million dollar question at the moment?

“Maybe try and rent it out to a student or something?” Beth says. “Or I don’t know. I was thinking I could turn it into an office for me? The girls’ ballet teacher has offered to waive their tuition fees if I make the costumes for the fall recital. She said she could put in a word for me with some of the other classes too, see if they might be willing to pay me to make theirs too.”

“That’s great,” Ruby enthuses, leaning over the kitchen island, taking a sip on her coffee, and Beth tentatively smiles. Thing is, it _does_ sort of feel great. Feels like something that might _work_ , if she could branch it out big enough to schools and clubs in the neighbourhood. She could work from home, still look after the kids, but maybe start making some money too.

“That would be bomb,” Annie agrees, finally turning on her heel and heading towards Beth and Ruby. She takes the coffee Beth offers her. “Speaking of the exact opposite of bomb, have you heard from Deansy about child support?”

“Not yet,” Beth says with a sigh. “He says he’s getting the accountant at work to help him draft something up.”

“Do we believe him?” Ruby asks tentatively, and Beth bites the inside of her cheek.

“We kind of have to,” she replies. “I’m not exactly overwhelmed with options. Actually, it’s pretty much the exact opposite of that right now.”

Annie and Ruby both look at each other, and Beth looks away, runs her hand around the rim of the mug in her hands, listening to the kids play outside. They both know she’s applied for the only jobs that might have been workable around the kids, but it turns out she didn’t even qualify for those – not for drive-thru windows at fast food restaurants or basic administration at daytime clinics. She’d even looked up being a teacher aid, one of the ones who helped with reading and homework, but even that required a college degree these days.

“Sounds like you’ve been needing to de-stress,” Annie says suddenly, and Ruby rolls her eyes.

“ _Annie_.”

“Come on, I’ve been dying over here! Sis, I _need_ to know if you’ve been getting back in _touch_ with yourself.”

Beth flushes to the roots of her hair, stutters briefly, and Annie’s face brightens instantly.

“You _did_ watch something,” Annie says gleefully, and Beth’s blush only deepens. “Okay, which one? Please tell me it was on the freaky list.”

And the thing is, it’s been more than one now.

After all, there was only so many times she could watch that massage video in a week, and she’d clicked on the account name and just sort of sucked it up. And she’d tried other guys, but none of them quite did it for her. It was always his she’d come back to, and so far she’s seen him as the masseuse, a doctor, a mechanic, a pool boy (that one seems to be one of his earlier works, if the baby face and substantially less tattoos have anything to say about it) and in one particularly creative one, a demon of some sort who had sex with at least four different women in fluffy angel wings and body glitter.

And god, it’s embarrassing, how quickly he’s come to dominate her bedtime thoughts. Like as soon as she’s put the kids to bed, he’s there, waiting for her, pressing her into the shower wall or against the kitchen counters or most of all just in bed, her fingers working furiously at herself, her body writhing back against the sheets.

“Not freaky. Just this like - -” Beth waves her hand out, avoiding eye contact. “Latin guy? He has a neck tattoo?”

“Rio,” Annie says instantly, then promptly brings her fingers to her mouth and kisses them. “ _Good_ choice.”

Ruby hums in agreement, taking a healthy sip of her coffee, before smacking her lips and saying:

“Now _that’s_ a man who knows his way around a woman’s body.”

And just - -

What?

Beth blinks between them, something strange tightening in her belly, almost like - - jealousy? Which makes approximately zero sense. It’s not like she doesn’t know other people are watching his videos, but - - she shakes her head.

“You both know who I’m talking about?”

Annie just looks at her, like she can hear something in her tone, but doesn’t comment on it, instead she just throws out an arm.

“Kinda skinny, but like. Fit skinny? Bird on his neck? Eyes that can penetrate your soul? _Huge_ cock?”

Beth flushes, which is apparently as much of a confirmation as Annie and Ruby need.

“Yeah, B. He’s kind of a big deal. Even Stan’s got a crush on the guy.” 

“ _Huge_ deal,” Annie corrects. “ _Rio_. He’s only got one name, like Beyoncé. And I mean like, he’s kind of the Beyoncé of porn. Universally loved, huge, international superstar, like, a million hit songs, doesn’t do interviews, sweeps up awards. Well, I mean, he used to. He’s _way_ slowed down his output.”

“He only released like, one thing last year,” Ruby adds, scrunching up her nose. “And I don’t know. Wasn’t as good. Scenario was cute. New neighbours gettin’ down, but - -”

She shrugs, and Annie nods in agreement.

“Kinda felt like he was just going through the motions? Agreed. It was a bit of a bust.”

Beth pauses, looking between the two of them as they sort of just - - stare forlornly at the loss of the guy’s – _Rio’s_ – regular movies, and the thought alone makes her feel sort of weird.

“Why did he slow down?” she asks, once her curiosity gets the better of her, and Annie just shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Maybe just burnt out? It’s hard to say. The production company he’s signed to must be _pissed_ though. I mean, they have a few other porn stars who are like, pretty good, but he was their meal ticket. God, I haven’t watched his stuff in ages. You’re making me wanna date night myself. Buy a bottle of wine, pull out the ol’ vibe. Watch his greatest hits.”

Beth rolls her eyes, but feels that weird spike of almost jealousy again, which is so absurd she almost breaks her neck shaking her head, trying to swallow it down. She doesn’t even know the guy, she reminds herself, just masturbated to him at least once a day for the last two weeks, which - - god. Both Annie and Ruby look at her curiously, and Beth stands up straighter.

“I should probably go and check on the kids.”

*

Beth’s still pulling Emma’s arms through her hoodie when the girls’ ballet teacher, Michaela, pops her head out of the classroom, grinning widely over at her.

“Ms. Boland, do you have a minute?”

Beth blinks, takes in Michaela’s enthused expression, and feels something in her chest lurch hopefully. She nods quickly, crouching down to the girls and asking them to wait, before stepping up behind Michaela, letting her walk her back into the now-empty ballet studio.

“It’s good news,” she hums, delighted, wandering into the corner towards her own things. “I spoke to Madame Bousset, and she’s _totally_ keen to have you make the costumes for all the classes for the fall recital.”

It takes her a minute to process it, but when she does, she’s almost awash with relief, with excitement, with _hope_ , the prospect of any sort of income like a salve to the open wound of her right now. Her face almost hurts, with how widely she’s grinning.

“Oh my god, you have no idea how great that is,” Beth says, and Michaela smiles warmly at her, propping her arm against the wall and undoing the ribbons on her ballet slippers.

“I really do, trust me. We hired Mrs. Paull last year, and god, that woman does _not_ know the difference between a snap fastener and an eyelet. Totally embarrassing. We had to pay somebody else to fix half the costumes.”

“That will not be a problem with me,” Beth says quickly, earnestly, clutching the strap on her handbag a little tighter in excitement, and Michaela grins, stretching out her feet.

“Of course not. I saw your girls’ costumes trick or treating last year. Out of this world.”

Beth preens happily, opens her mouth to say thanks, when Michaela continues:

“Money-wise, Madame Bousset has said $40 per costume, on top of all the materials of course, does that sound alright?”

And god, Beth thinks, cheeks flushing, delighted.

“Sounds more than alright,” she replies, voice high and light, already starting to do the math in her head – that’ll get her close to $5,000 she thinks, and should give her enough looks to start a website, and - -

“Well, don’t tell Madame Bousset that, she might think she’s highballed you,” Michaela says with a laugh, pulling off her ballet slipper. She starts on the second one. “She said to send the invoice after the performance, so itemise it for the costumes, and for all the fabrics and stuff – oh, you’ll need to provide the receipts for anything you buy to make them, just for accounts, so don’t forget that.”

Which - - Beth pauses. She clears her throat, stands up a little straighter, excitement stifling in her belly like someone’s dropped a weight on it, and she tries to keep her voice light, easy, breezy, as she says:

“Oh, you’re not going to pay up front?”

Down the hall, a mother calls out for her daughter, her voice loud, braying in the afternoon, the bustle of the next class swallowing up all the other sounds, little girls chattering, giggling, playing each other TikTok videos on their cells. Beth wants to glance back, check on her own girls, but she can’t take her eyes off Michaela, who’s focused now on pulling on her socks, her sneakers, to go home.

“Not really how we do things, Ms. Boland.”

“I don’t mean all of it,” Beth says quickly. “I just mean for the materials I have to buy to make the costumes. Not - - not the costumes themselves.”

Michaela blinks at her, crouching down to tie up her laces.

“You’ll get fully reimbursed at the end of it all.”

“Right,” Beth says. “But I mean - - you have over a hundred students here, that’s going to be a _lot_ of materials.”

Hundreds of dollars worth at least, Beth thinks, a weight suddenly sitting heavy on her chest. She shifts sideways, awkward, and Michaela looks up at Beth a little uncertainly, and god. She’s so young, Beth thinks. Teaching ballet classes while she’s at college. A hobby. Like this was always supposed to be for Beth.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

Beth exhales, _ums_ , pushes her hair behind her ears, a flush creeping up her neck. She has two hundred dollars in her bank account right now, and groceries and petrol and school field trip fees to pay, and just - -

“Mrs Paull has offered again anyway,” Michaela says sympathetically. “Maybe you guys could do it together. Go halves? Her husband’s like, a big deal lawyer, so I’m sure she could cover the costs of the fabric and stuff.”

And she could, Beth thinks.

But it would mean half the money at the end of it too.

She shakes her head, paints on the best smile she can manage.

“No, I’ve got this, don’t even worry about it. Can you email me the themes for the dances and I’ll start drawing up some sketches? Thank you, again, seriously. This is going to be just _great_.”

*

Thing about Dean is that he’s pretty impossible to miss, Beth thinks, folding her arms across her chest, watching him stride across the showroom floor, laughing loudly at something somebody has said. The dealership is quieter than it should be – more staff than customers taking up space, but Dean seems unbothered, rapping his fingers along the bonnet of his prized yellow corvette as he walks to god knows where.

 _Probably straight into the vagina of one of his office floozy’s,_ a voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Annie says, and Beth bites the inside of her cheek, pulling her handbag tighter against her side, embarrassment staining her cheeks.

Did everyone here know? Did they - -

“Mrs. Boland,” the receptionist – Sharon – chimes suddenly, loudly, only just having seen her, and Beth smiles stiffly at her. She’s said it loud enough that Dean spins suddenly on his heels, staring gormless at her across the showroom floor. He paints on a forced, goofy grin, makes a comment to a guy near him about _the old ball and chain_ , before striding across the lot towards her.

“Hey, honey, what are you doing here?” he asks, and Beth stands up a little straighter, tilts her chin up at him, and says:

“We need to talk about money.”

It’s enough to make Dean glare at her, shushing her quickly, grabbing her by the elbow and steering her away from the floor of the lot and into his office. He pulls down the blinds, quick as he can, before spinning on his heel to face her.

“I’m doing fine, thanks for asking,” he snaps. “Can’t say it’s been easy, sleeping in my mom’s spare room, but you know, I’m making it work.”

Beth resists the urge to roll her eyes, sucking in a breath. They need to talk about the mortgage. They need to talk about child support. And god, Beth hates even the prospect of it, but she’s spent three days doing the math, and she needs him to lend her the money for the materials for the ballet costumes too. 

“You said you were going to your accountant to work out the money situation,” she tells him firmly, and Dean stares at her for a second, before he plants his hands on his hips, sniffs, looks away. 

“Yeah, and I will,” he replies, kicking at the carpet with the toe of his shoe, and Beth frowns.

“Well, let’s go now together,” she suggests. “Get it done.”

With that, she spins on her heel, trying to remember where Larry’s office is when suddenly Dean darts in front of her, blocking the exit from his office.

“Jesus, Beth, these things are like - - you know, they take - - take _time_ , and _nuance_. I mean Larry works for the business, not for us. He’d be doing us a favour even looking at it.”

And just - - god, Beth thinks with a sigh, exhausted, exasperated. She looks up at him desperately, at his big, block head and his water eyes and his thinning hair, and she hates him and she just so desperately wishes she didn’t _need him_ still for this.

“Dean, the mortgage is due in two weeks,” she says. “I’ve been making a budget for everything too – Kenny’s tutoring and Danny’s karate and the clothes for the kids, and I just - - we really need to talk about it, we - - ” 

Scoffing loudly, Dean surges up to his full height, towering over her as he looks down at her, waving a hand out flippantly between them.

“Yeah, well, maybe it wouldn’t slip my mind so much if I was, y’know, _living in my house_.”

It’s enough to set Beth’s teeth on edge, to make her glower up at him, her fury like a pulled-tight strap of elastic, close to the tearing point.

“Sure, and maybe if you’d been home more when you lived there, your marital vows might not have _slipped your mind_ ,” Beth bites, furious, and Dean scowls down at her.

“You know what?” he says. “Why don’t _you_ get a job, Bethie, instead of hanging around mine. Earn your own damn money for a change.”

And god, isn’t she _trying_ , she thinks, sucking in a wet breath, and he looks almost sympathetic at that, almost regretful, and god, the last thing she wants is his pity. She tugs her purse tighter into her side, shoving past him and out the door.

“Talk to Larry, Dean,” Beth calls behind her, before storming out of the dealership. She climbs into the driver’s seat of her minivan and slams her hands down on the steering wheel, frustrated tears building at the corners of her eyes, and just - -

She’ll figure it out, she promises herself.

God, she hopes she figures it out.

*

A car alarm goes off.

The sound braying through the quiet of the night, and Beth finds herself holding her breath, despite herself, praying it’s not enough to wake the kids up. It had taken her too long to get them to bed tonight, Jane in particular racing down the hall every time Beth wandered three feet away from her and Emma’s bedroom, and it was enough to leave her feeling ragged. Or, well, more ragged.

She hasn’t slept well all week, has spent almost every hour of the day cooking, cleaning and trying to work out if she has anything of value to sell on Craigslist. Her jewellery, her favourite casserole dish, her dryer. At least it had given her an excuse to clean out the garage of the kids baby things too, she thinks – their highchairs and cribs, clothes and toys, and things she’d once thought she’d have passed down to them when they had their own children, but - -

No.

This was more important, she reminds herself.

Having a roof over their heads is more important than any sentimentality.

Beth sighs, tosses over in bed, glancing out the window at the clear night. It’s a strange feeling – to be this bone tired and yet to have sleep seem so evasive, to have her head just so _full_ of all there is to do, the terrible, paralysing fear of not being able to pay her way next month having stretched out in her head, and just, god, Beth thinks, clenching her eyes shut.

She sits up in bed and grabs her laptop.

It’s almost second nature these days to open up an incognito tab in her browser, type in the _Thank You Ma’am_ website, to click on the porn stars tag and then Rio’s face, and she settles back against the headboard, biting her lip as she scrolls down his video catalogue. A lot of his newer ones are behind a paywall, and she frowns, toes curling a little, weirdly embarrassed at the prospect of not being able to afford to see them, and then somehow even more embarrassed that she’s embarrassed at all.

She shakes her head, groans at herself, runs a hand back through her hair and is about to click on one she knows she likes – the one with him as a mechanic, and really, she doesn’t have the time or energy to think about what _that_ means given Dean – only to suddenly have a bright pink box pop-up onto the screen.

She blinks, eyes adjusting to the sudden flare of light.

_WANTED: Girls! Girls! Girls!_

_Dying to get in front of the Thank You Ma’am cameras? For a limited time, we’re opening our doors to any woman who’s ever dreamt of being a porn star. Whether you’re a petite or a BBW, MILF or barely legal, whether you give killer BJs or are an expert with anal beads, rock missionary or kill the crab walk, we want to get to know_ YOU _(potentially_ REAL _well_ ).

 _If you think you’ve got what it_ takes _to_ take it _, apply today!_

_(All Thank You Ma’am performers are paid industry award rates. Speak to your union representative today for more info)._

Beth slams her laptop shut, eyes wide, chest heaving, and just - -

What?

*

“How much do you think porn pays?” Beth slurs, a little tipsy, rocking sideways on her barstool, and Ruby shoots her an amused look, her eyes a little glassy herself.

“God, B, if I’d known you’d get this into it, I’d have - - “

“Have what?” Beth asks, and Ruby bursts out laughing.

“I have _no_ idea.”

And then Beth’s giggling too, dropping her head heavily forwards and watching as Annie stumbles back towards their corner of the bar, another round of drinks in her hands.

“Annie, how much do _you_ think porn pays?” Ruby asks her, pinching one of the cocktails, and Annie blinks up at her.

“What?”

“Your sister’s curious,” Ruby says slyly, tilting her head towards Beth, who flushes a little, sucking on the straw of her cocktail. “Clearly brushing up for trivia night.”

And that makes all of them giggle drunkenly. They haven’t been to this bar before, but Beth thinks she likes it. Annie had met the bartender on Tinder and after what Annie told them was a night of above-average sex, he’d promised a night on the house at the bar he worked at for her and a couple of friends.

He was pretty cute too, smiling at her down the bar, waving every now and then. It was a nice vibe, Beth thinks, wobbling a little on her barstool.

“I mean, it’s gotta be a bit, right?” Annie contemplates. “Some of it is like, fucking _weird_. I once accidentally clicked on this video where a woman in a ski mask put a full pineapple up her vagina.”

Beth spits out her drink, and Ruby just looks totally horrified.

“She’d taken the skin off,” Annie says, laughing at their reactions, and Ruby shakes her head.

“Wouldn’t it still sting? Like, that’s citrusy as fuck.” 

Beth’s cringing, trying to mop up the drink she’d just half spat out everywhere as Ruby suddenly pulls out her phone, typing something in.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think? I’m looking it up.”

“Oh my god,” Beth says, blushing, and Annie just starts laughing, taking a sip of her own drink and sitting close enough to Ruby that she can peer over her shoulder at her phone screen. At least, she does until Ruby bats her away, muttering something about personal space. After a minute, Ruby pops an eyebrow at her phone screen, and Annie bounces in her seat.

“Okay, lay it on us, Rubes.”

“Minimum $700 for a girl-on-girl scene, $900 for girl-on-guy. It looks like it’s a sliding scale? You get more the more you do, or who you do it with. More money per sex act, more money for more people, more _again_ for interracial, more if it’s your debut. Stars obviously get the most. They like, match salary to what they think the star will make them.”

“Makes sense,” Annie says, sipping on her drink. “God, Rio must get like, a bajillion dollars.”

Ruby makes a noise of agreement, and Beth sits there, considering it, and Ruby clocks it, eyes suddenly widening in shock.

“Beth.”

Beth glances up at her.

“What?”

“You have a look.”

“What look?”

“On your face right now,” she tells her, and Annie blinks over at her, reels back, because she must see it too.

“What the fuck?” she says, laughing, and Beth goes bright red, feeling totally sprung as she waves a hand out and tries to just - - swallow her embarrassment.

“I don’t know, I’m not really - - it’s just - - that website you sent me has like, a callout? For people - - I mean. Women, not people. I mean women are people obviously, but - -”

Ruby just stares at her, waiting for her to wrap it up, while Annie stares at her in shock, and Beth just keeps babbling until finally she just - -

Stops.

She looks at them both, then down at her drink, exhaling shakily, a little drunkenly.

“I don’t think Dean’s going to pay me anything.”

It’s immediate then, the furious ranting that practically bursts from Annie’s lips, and Beth looks sideways, out across the bar, at people younger than them, happier than them, with so many less _problems_ than them, and - - she finally glances back at Ruby, who doesn’t look at all surprised.

“The ballet studio - - ” Ruby tries anyway, and Beth promptly cuts her off.

“Will pay me,” Beth agrees. “But I’ve got to buy the materials up front, and I won’t see that money for at least a month.”

“Me and Stan can lend you something,” Ruby says quickly, and Beth looks at her.

“Twelve-hundred dollars?”

And that’s immediate too. The way Ruby closes her mouth, and it’s not a jab, it’s _not_ , Beth’s just - - she wants to be realistic. She’s done pretending that there’s any sort of get out of jail free card for her in life, and besides, she doesn’t want to leave Ruby without anyway. She bites her lip, shaking her head.

“And that’ll only pay for this month’s mortgage and the fabric,” Beth says. “I don’t have any other skills, I didn’t go to college, I haven’t worked since highschool. And…I’m tired of relying on people for money.”

Because she is. Because it’s humiliating, talking to Dean, humiliating telling a college-aged ballet teacher she can’t front a few hundred dollars to make a few thousand, humiliating to have to count every penny at the grocery store to make sure her card won’t be declined at the checkout, and - -

Since she saw the ad, she just…hasn’t been able to _un_ see it.

“They’ll probably take one look at my application and throw it out anyway,” Beth says, lighter this time, laughing a little, because they probably will, but at least this way she can say that she tried. 

“Maybe,” Ruby says quietly, shrugging. “I mean, maybe not too. Beth, you’d be having sex with strangers.”

“Yeah,” Beth agrees, shrugging, because she’d thought of that too, but – “I mean. Kind of turned out I’d been doing that for twenty years, didn’t it?”

It’s enough to silence both Annie and Ruby briefly, to leave them looking at her, unreadable expressions on both their faces, and Beth quickly turns back to her drink, polishing it off in a long gulp, and it’s Annie who breaks the quiet.

“Well,” she says, voice lightening up. “I can’t imagine anyone being _worse_ at sex than Dean.”

Which - - Beth giggles, wrinkling her nose, grateful, and she looks at Annie, hoping that it conveys that, and the way Annie smiles softly back at her, she thinks she did. Annie’s grin widens suddenly, punching Beth lightly on the arm.

“And who knows, right? Maybe you’ll get to bone Rio.”

She waggles her eyebrows dramatically, and then her face suddenly shifts into one of abject horror.

“Oh my god, if you do, does that mean I can’t watch it? No, I’ll definitely still watch it, but - - hmmm. Truly a moral dilemma of our time. Does that count as incest if I watch your porno?”

“ _Annie_ ,” Beth groans, and Ruby just laughs, ordering them another round.

*

And okay, she thinks, stumbling back into her bedroom, it’s not like it could _hurt_.

They’ll probably take one look at her and laugh her out of the - - studio? Theater? Beth giggles, where do they even _make_ porn? She suddenly conjures up an image in her head of the girls’ ballet school stage – red velvet curtains and all, pulled apart to reveal a porno set. The thought alone makes her wrinkle her nose, kicking off her pumps and flopping heavily onto her belly on the bed.

She bounces a few times, wriggling up the mattress, moving slow, like her brain’s bobbing like a ship on the sea of alcohol she’s drunk tonight, and that thought makes her laugh too. Finally wriggling enough up the bed, she grabs her laptop off her bedside table, pulling up the _Thank You Ma’am_ website, clicking through to Rio’s tag, scrolling to find one she hasn’t watched yet and hovering the mouse over a thumbnail of him and his _enormous_ penis in a pair of tight red speedos and ooooo, _lifeguard_ , Beth grins, biting her lip, already feeling herself getting warm and - -

No!

She frowns at herself, sits up. That’s not what she’s doing.

Before she can think anything more of it, she clicks on the ad.

The page opens up to a portal with a range of basic questions – name, age, why you want to be in porn. Beth briefly contemplates lying about all of it, but she feels a little wobbly, and the site says she’ll need to present ID if she’s brought in anyway, so instead she just fills it out accurately.

Elizabeth Boland.

42.

Looking for money to start my real business.

 _Huh_ , she thinks, frowning a little at the screen, the words swimming a bit in front of her. Maybe that’s a little too accurate.

She deletes it.

Recently divorced. Looking to take control of my destiny!

Beth grins, happy, hits next.

After that, the questions get a little more specific, asking for details about her body – measurements to tattoos and piercings to cup sizes to - - _pubic hair style_ , and she has to stimmy the urge to throw her laptop across the room, because right, she thinks. Right. She lurches off the bed, grabbing a measuring tape out of her sewing kit and making wobbly work of measuring herself up, filling in the details, and when she’s done with that, she hits the button to the next page too.

The photo package.

Beth wets her lips, reading through the instructions. They don’t want anything racy, nothing salacious ( _We work in porn already,_ the caption says. _We don’t need to see your thirst traps. Just what you really look like_ ). Just - - nudes. Almost clinical ones. A full frontal, one from the side, one from the back, then three close-ups – face, breasts, ass.

Which is - - that’s okay, she thinks, maybe? Yes. God, if she’s even remotely serious about this, it’s not like she won’t be showing all of that off anyway. Maybe she should give it another few weeks – try and lose a few pounds before - -

No, Beth reminds herself.

A few weeks her mortgage will be overdue.

A few weeks and Michaela might find somebody else for the costumes.

She grabs her cell off the bed, ducks into her en suite, makes quick work of fixing her hair, touching up her make-up, and then takes a few awkward selfies which are - - awkward, to say the least. Okay, maybe she’ll come back to the headshot.

Unzipping her dress and wriggling out of it, she pulls off her stockings too, her panties, unclips her bra and then she just - - looks at herself in the mirror, and god, she can see it on herself like this, how far down her chest her flush goes. She blinks, inhales sharply.

She looks - -

Soft, mostly. Probably her age. Her big, full breasts not sagging exactly, but just - - a far cry from the small, perky breasts of the girls she’s seen Rio sleep with on the Thank You Ma’am website, which is silly, she tells herself. It’s not like it’ll be him. He barely makes anything anyway anymore, and besides, they’ll probably want to put her with somebody her age or something, or - - maybe not? It’s just a stark reminder of how much she doesn’t know how this works, and god, is this a huge mistake?

She looks at herself in the mirror, sucks in her belly a bit, runs her hands down the hourglass shape of her body, where she’s narrowest at her waist, where her hips widen, and she could just leave it, could wait for Dean, she could - - she could be _homeless_. 

She sucks in a breath and she grabs her phone.


	2. Chapter 2

“What am I supposed to be looking at right now?”

“The email,” Beth hisses, flailing a hand out at her phone, and Ruby arches an eyebrow, picking it up from where Beth had planted it in front of her on the kitchen island. She sees it is the thing, the exact moment Ruby _realises_ , her eyes widening and her mouth splitting open to let loose a disbelieving laugh.

“Bitch, did you get a _callback_?”

And is that what you even call it? Beth has no idea, just knows that three days after she’d drunkenly hit send on her application, she’d gotten a phone call from a woman named Gretchen from _Thank You Ma’am_ who’d asked her if she’d come into their Detroit office for a _chat_. The email was more a follow-up confirmation of what they’d talked about on the phone than anything – a run-through of the details – the meeting time (Tuesday, 2 o’clock), and some general advice to dress casually (she’d reiterated what the application form had said about them already working in porn – “We make the shows, so we don’t need you to give the office one.”) and to let her know they’d likely take some photos of her.

Beth had been a stuttering mess on the phone, stumbling through the call while unpacking groceries, and the second Gretchen had hung up, she’d practically thrown her cell through the kitchen window, because - -

Well.

“It’s good, right?” Beth says, her voice higher pitched than she intends.

“I mean,” Ruby looks at her, eyebrows raised again. “It’s what you wanted, right?”

“Right,” she agrees, twisting her hands around her coffee mug. “Totally. I mean. It’s _exactly_ what I wanted. This could be big.”

“Huge,” Ruby echoes, and Beth starts nodding.

“The hugest.”

Ruby nods, takes a sip of her own coffee, not taking her eyes off Beth.

“You freaking out?”

“Yes,” Beth admits with a groan, leaning back a little until her hip hits her kitchen counter. “I mean - -” she lowers her voice to little more than a whisper. “It’s _porn_.”

Because god, it _is_. It’s all - - _penises_ and bodies and words - - _sounds_ that make her blush. Hell, she’s blushing now just thinking about it, and Ruby flashes her an amused look in reply.

“Yeah, B. It was porn when you hit send on that application too.” She jerks her head back, forehead furrowing in thought as she squints over at Beth. “What _did_ you have to send anyway?”

“Just like, some basic information and then, um, like, naked pictures,” Beth says, gesturing broadly, and Ruby’s eyes practically pop out of her head. “But not like, weird ones. Just - - pretty basic stuff really.”

Turning it over, Ruby reaches for the creamer, topping off her coffee, and she just sort of - - squints at Beth again, like she’s trying to picture it, which is kind of dumb anyway. Between change rooms and childbirth (Ruby was by her side for every birth after Kenny’s after all – Dean had decided being in the room for one was enough), it’s not like she hasn’t seen Beth all _up close and personal_ before. There was even that time in highschool when Ruby had been so nervous to kiss Stan for the first time (she needn’t have been), and Beth sort of wanted to know if maybe kissing somebody who wasn’t Dean might be more fun than kissing him was (it was), and they’d just sort of - - well. Explored a little. Not had sex or anything, but - - maybe they’d compared bodies and touched a little. It had been nice. Kind of fun. They’d barely been able to stop giggling.

Beth doesn’t remember a time being that naked had ever otherwise felt that fun. And safe. And - -

Warm.

“And what’s this sitch gonna be? Like, do you have to _audition_?”

Beth blinks, pulled from her thoughts, and quickly shakes her head, because Gretchen had been adamant about that on the phone too.

(“While it’s certainly a popular scenario in the medium, casting couches don’t actually operate at any reputable studio,” she’d said. “We just have a conversation, talk about process, what you’ll be comfortable with, then if we go ahead, we’ll have some pretty extensive rehearsals so that when we shoot it’ll be quick and easy, even if what we’re shooting isn’t.” She’d laughed at her own joke in a way that makes Beth think she’s told it too many times before. She’d laughed politely in reply).

“She just wants to talk.”

Ruby considers this, tilting her head from side to side, thinking it through.

“Sounds like it’ll be like any other job interview then,” Ruby replies, and Beth nods, because - - right. Not that she’d know. She hasn’t exactly had a formal job interview since the Dairy Queen in highschool, and even that hadn’t exactly been _formal_. She’d known the job was a sure-thing, what with one of Ruby’s cousins managing the place.

Nothing about this feels like a sure thing though, she thinks, biting the inside of her cheek. She takes a sip of her coffee, trying to swallow any doubt down with the mouthful.

“I guess there’s only one question left then,” Ruby adds, and Beth blinks up at her, quirking an eyebrow. “What are you going to wear?”

*

Beth’s still re-hanging her floral sundresses in her closet when Jane suddenly cackles, shattering the otherwise quiet of Beth’s bedroom. Spinning on the spot, Beth grins, amused, to see Jane sprawled out on her bed, practically swallowed in one of her robes as Emma teeters across the rug in a pair of Beth’s old kitten heels.

“Oh, are we playing dress up now too?” she asks, smiling, and both of the girls’ giggle, striking haphazard poses on the spot.

It’s not exactly unusual for the girls to turn Beth’s wardrobe into their own personal costume box, but perhaps it is for _Beth_. She feels like she’s spent half the morning clawing her way through floral blouses and slacks, pencil skirts from two-children-ago and fitted dresses with the zipper teeth mangled. Ruby had helped for most of the morning, vetoing options or adding them to a (very small) Ruby-Approved-Shortlist. Still, nothing felt quite right.

“Do I look like a princess, mommy?” Emma coos, spinning so fast on the spot she almost falls out of Beth’s heels, and Beth hums in affirmation.

“You always look like a princess, sweetie. The sweetest, most perfect princess of all.”

Emma glows, and Jane suddenly lurches off the bed, Beth’s robe flying around her like a cape.

“And I’m a dragon!” she howls, making Emma giggle and turn her hands into claws – the surefire sign she’s about to do some ‘magic’. Beth smiles, warmth unfolding in her chest even as she turns back to her closet and just - - right. She has to pick something. It’s not like she can go out and buy anything. Something in here has to be _it_.

Keys jangle in the lock of the front door, and before she can even think, there are familiar, heavy steps sounding up the hallway, chasing away the warmth in her chest. She doesn’t even have to look to know who it is.

“Daddy!” Jane cries, springing off the bed towards Dean, and Beth clenches her jaw, furiously shoving clothes back into her closet. God, he didn’t even _text_ , let alone knock.

“Janey! Emmy! Uhhh, you girls look _amazing_.”

They both giggle, pleased, and Beth chances a look over, seeing Dean in his slacks, an unironed shirt, his tie hanging loose around his neck. He looks - - rumpled, and the thought settles uneasily in her, the memory of all the months she’d dismissed this look as something like Dean being _hands on_ at work, which - - well, wasn’t exactly untrue.

He could certainly be _hands on_.

Beth strides across to her French doors, pushing them open onto the back deck and letting the warmth of the afternoon flood her bedroom.

“Girls, why don’t you go play outside for a bit?”

And it’s like they can sense it – the tension, because their bright little eyes dart between Beth and Dean before they sprint outside, Emma’s feet newly bare, but Beth’s robe flapping off of Jane’s shoulders like a filmy set of insect wings. She waits until they’re out of earshot, eagerly climbing the wrong way up the slide, before Beth turns to look at Dean.

“Really?” she asks, and Dean shrugs, shuffling slightly closer, eyeing off the piles of clothes still on her bed.

“Are you cleaning out your wardrobe or something?”

Beth rolls her eyes, grabbing another dress off the bed, shoving it back onto its hanger and then back into her closet.

“Well, I have so much extra room now,” she says, tone cloying, before she glances back at him, takes him in all over again. “Are you working on the weekend? That’s new. What’s her name?”

With a scoff, Dean drops his hands to his hips, shaking his head, like he’d do whenever Beth was suspicious. Whenever he wanted to make her feel ridiculous instead of _right_.

“ _His_ name is Barry. The accountant you’ve been begging me to talk to.”

“ _Asking_ ,” Beth corrects, striding back across the room, grabbing her shoes that Emma had been wearing off the floor and putting them away too. “And I’d really appreciate it if you _knocked_ instead of letting yourself in. I’m only letting you keep the key in case of emergencies.”

“Letting me? Jesus, Beth, it’s still my house.”

“No, it’s not,” she insists, her voice exasperated, urgent, embarrassingly upset, even to her own ears. She spins around to face him, flush cheeked and suddenly furious. “It’s _my_ house, and if you don’t - - ”

“We can’t afford it.”

Beth stops, the wind knocked out of her. Dean looks away, down at his feet, kicks at the carpet.

“Barry said between the mortgages and Boland Motors and you - - y’know, _not working_ , there’s just - - no way.”

Beth blinks, sucks in a wobbly, aching breath.

“When you start paying child support, I can figure it out, I can - - ”

“I’m not paying child support, Beth.”

His voice is firm, but when Beth stares back at him, unblinking, unable to even really move, think, feel anything but the heavy stone of confirmation in her gut. Dean sighs, runs a hand back through his hair, pink staining his cheeks, the shells of his ears.

“I mean, I will - - I just. I talked to Barry about that too, and um. My mom got me a lawyer, and y’know…with the four kids, it’d be 19% of my income, right? But the thing is, Boland Motors isn’t actually - - uhh - - turning enough of a profit to pay me at the moment.”

“You’re not being paid?”

“No. Not at the moment. But I mean, you’ll get the 19%, just right now - - ”

“It’s 19% of nothing.”

Dean breathes out a laugh, almost like he’s - - he’s _relieved_ to get it off his chest or something, and Beth can feel the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, hot and aching and just so _angry_.

“Until I make it work. I just think what’s going to be best is if we all move into my mom’s for a bit, and then we - - ”

Which - - _god_ , no. Beth inhales sharply, staring at the pile of Ruby-Approved-Shortlisted clothes, and maybe her black turtleneck with jeans, maybe with slacks. Maybe she can fix the zipper on the back of her navy dress, maybe she can soak it, to get out the red wine stain on the bust. Can she do that before Thursday?

No.

It can’t be a question anymore.

None of this can.

“No, Dean,” she says, her gaze flicking up to him, clearing her throat and blinking back her tears. “I’m figuring it out, okay?”

“Beth - -”

“I want you to transfer all the paperwork over to me. Everything. Then - - I’m going to get my own accountant. And a lawyer. Since your mother’s decided you should have one, I guess I should too.”

Dean splutters, his gormless face blinking back at her, and she knows this wasn’t the way he wanted this to go, wasn’t the way he’d even thought it would, but now at least he doesn’t seem to fight it. He holds up his hands, offering nothing, looking out the open French doors to where the girls are hollering on the top of the play house, the sounds of their giggles echoing up through the clear sky. 

“I’m going to say goodbye to the girls.”

Beth watches him go, watches him play with them, however briefly, and the weight of all of this just feels so hopeless.

She shudders out a breath, steadies herself with a hand on the top of her chest of drawers, eyes dropping back to her bed.

The dress, she thinks.

*

There’s music playing in the foyer.

Nothing particularly noticeable, barely even identifiable, the sort of generic instrumental music that reminds Beth of hospital waiting rooms or shopping mall elevators, and she smooths out the skirt of her dress as she steps deeper into the room, across the marble-tiled floors towards the tall, glass reception desk at the other end of the space.

She’s not sure what she was expecting out of the _Thank You Ma’am_ offices, but it certainly wasn’t this. She doesn’t think she’s ever been in a building this nice – a small, modern office space with what looks like a low-slung studio attached to it, and a neat density of forest enveloping both from the back.

The foyer is neat too – sleek, chic white marble and glass. A couple of black leather couches with white, fluffy cushions Beth’s pretty sure Annie owns, sits in front of a glass coffee table stacked with magazines that are really the only hint of what this place actually is – _Playboy_ , _Hustler_ and _Penthouse_ – even a few others Beth has never heard of.

There are two women sitting on one of the couches already – one who has to be one of the most beautiful women that Beth has ever seen – small and dark haired and darker featured, snapping gum like her life depended on it. The other who looks like a Barbie doll brought to life, her fake tan leaving a stain on those white fluffy cushions, and Beth smiles at them both, oddly relieved when they both smile kindly back. It’s enough to steel her nerves, to help her push her hair back over her shoulder, suck in a breath, and stride across to the woman behind the desk.

“Hi there, I’m here to meet with Gretchen Zorada? My name is Elizabeth Boland.”

The girl blinks up at her, gormless in a way that reminds Beth of Amber, and god - - she sucks in another breath, trying to square her shoulders. The woman looks Beth over appraisingly, tilts her head back to the other two women.

“I’ll let her know you’re here. Gretchen’s running about forty minutes behind. Lots of interviews today, so I’d grab a seat and settle in.”

Beth feels her mouth dry, but she nods, smiles as best she can and spins, looking awkwardly over at the other women, and finally taking a seat on one of the other chairs, brushing her hair back again, and wishing she’d brought a book or something because her mind feels like it’s going a mile a minute. She ends up grabbing one of the magazines, only to instantly close it with a bright, furious flush when she opens it on a woman lounging on a couch not unlike the one she’s sitting on in only a pair of lace panties, her fingers inching below the fabric.

The movement’s been enough to make the petite, dark haired woman look at her and bite back a grin, and Beth shrugs bashfully back at her.

Are they interviewing a lot of women? Are they all as beautiful as this one? What if Gretchen takes one look at Beth and laughs her out of the office, because god, she’s not a thing like the women she’s watched Rio with on the _Thank You Ma’am_ site, and certainly not like either of the women sitting opposite her and if she can’t get this work than she can’t - -

_No_ , Beth thinks settling into her seat, swallowing thickly. She can’t think like that, she reminds herself.

She pulls her phone from her purse instead, scrolling through an email from the dance school, starting to put together costumes in her head for the distraction.

She has no idea how long she’s been sitting there when the blonde gets called in, but knows that the other woman is barely in there ten minutes when the darker-featured woman is called in, and then - - well, that’s a much longer wait.

Still, it’s not quite the forty minutes when her own name is called.

“Ms. Boland?”

Swivelling around in her seat, Beth blinks, surprised to see a tall, angular woman standing in the foyer. She’s sharply dressed, in a black sheer blouse, wide legged black slacks and a pair of polka dot pumps, her hair neatly styled in dark waves. Spotting Beth, she just jerks her head for her to follow, and Beth scrambles to her feet, following her down the hall, her eyes wide as she takes in the neat lines of the building beyond the foyer.

She walks her past a row of tidy offices, before pulling open the door to a large studio in the back. Stepping tentatively in, Beth’s not really sure what she’s expecting – a camera crew, perhaps, or a stained couch, maybe even a bed, because despite Gretchen’s assurances, Beth’s been overthinking this for days, only - -

Only what she’s met with instead is a brightly lit room with a long, gleaming wooden floor and pigeon egg walls. There are a few things that look perhaps like props shoved back against the far wall – a few tables, stacked up chairs, rolled up rugs, folded sheets and curtains. In front of them is a photography screen, a few lights set up, a trolly filled with things Beth would usually keep in her craft room.

Beth blinks, lets her eyes keep scanning, taking in the space until they land on a little meeting nook in the corner, complete with one long couch and a couple of grey armchairs, a small, glass table like the ones outside. Before she can help herself, she starts towards it, only to pause when Gretchen stops her. 

“We’ll get your measurements first, if that’s okay. Then some photographs, and then we can have a chat.”

“Oh, right! Yes,” Beth says, pausing in her step, looking back at her. Gretchen had said that on the phone after all. She shifts a little, biting her lip. “Were the ones I sent in not okay?”

“They were great,” Gretchen replies easily, walking Beth over to the photography screen and starting to rummage through the trolly beside it. “I mean, heck, you’re here, aren’t you? We just like to get our own too. Think of it like - - a bit of further corroboration. Can you take off your shoes?”

Glancing down at her heeled boots, Beth swallows thickly, crouching down to unzip them and step out of them, losing a good three inches of height in the process, but if anything this just seems to make Gretchen pleased and - - right, Beth thinks. This isn’t _modelling_. This is - -

Cold metal nudges at her toes, and Beth startles. She’d been so lost in her own head she hadn’t even seen Gretchen move, and she certainly hadn’t seen her pull out the shoe measuring device.

“Lift your foot,” Gretchen says, and Beth does, stepping onto the thing, and letting Gretchen measure it, which is - - weird, she thinks. But then she thinks of one of the thumbnails on the website which definitely featured a penis pushing between a pair of feet, and the thought sends her scarlet. Still, she lets Gretchen measure the other too.

When Gretchen stands up again, grabbing her tablet, she doesn’t let her put her shoes back on, just walks her back towards the wall instead where there’s a measuring board, and presses Beth back into it. She hums, narrowing her eyes a little. 

“How tall did you say you were?” she asks, checking her tablet.

“5’8,” Beth says, and Gretchen shakes her head.

“You gave yourself an inch. You’re 5’7.”

And - - right, Beth thinks, more bemused than anything. Gretchen steps her forwards again, walking her back to the photography screen before pulling a cloth measuring tape off the trolly, and gesturing for Beth to hold her arms out. She does, watching as Gretchen first measures her shoulder to sternum, then shoulder to waist, shoulder to hip, then shoulder to - -

She jumps a little when Gretchen’s fingers graze her crotch through her dress. Gretchen flicks her gaze back up, clocking her reaction, and when she reaches for her tablet, Beth wonders if she types that into it too.

After that, she measures her around her hips, waist, then her bust.

She pops an eyebrow at what she sees, before dropping the tape and grabbing her tablet again.

“They real?” she asks, and Beth looks at her, curling her hair behind her ears.

“Yes,” she replies. “I kind of figured you’d be able to tell.”

“There are some very good surgeons out there,” Gretchen tells her. “Although I will say not many of the girls in this business use those ones unfortunately. You’re certainly blessed though. Would you take your dress off for me?”

She says it so suddenly, so matter of factly, that it takes Beth a moment to process it. She blinks, mouth going a little dry, but then - - this isn’t so bad. Clinical almost, she thinks, like she’s at a doctor’s appointment, not a pornography studio. She reaches behind herself for the zip on the back of her dress, tugging it down when suddenly the door slides open, and god, okay, maybe she was more on edge than she thought, because she gasps before she can help herself, glad that she was still mostly (entirely) covered.

“You’re early,” Gretchen says, not even looking up from where she’s still punching notes into her tablet. Beth fiddles with her zip – getting it the whole way back up, before dropping her arms, and she’s just about to turn around when a voice sounds behind her.

“Like to keep you on your toes, darlin’, you know that.”

And just - - it’s the _voice_ , that’s what it is. The dulcet timbre of it, the _purr_ of it, and then it’s sudden – the way heat floods her body, unfurling like twin blooms in her cheeks, the roots of it sprawling down her neck, chest, and lower still. She sucks in a breath, blinking hard.

“Please,” Gretchen scoffs, finally glancing up from tablet as Rio strides past Beth towards Gretchen. “You like to throw me off schedule is what you like.”

There’s a swagger to his step Beth doesn’t think she’s ever seen on another human being before, an easy confidence to him that belies his videos, and Beth just - - she can’t take her eyes off him. The long line of his body, the fresh buzz of his hair, the eyelashes as long and thick as the fringing on her grandmother’s old curtains, and god, she can barely catch her breath. He’s somehow both smaller and bigger than she’d ever thought. Taller maybe, his shoulders broader but his waist narrower, legs almost just thin instead of thinly muscled, and his face - - well, his _face_.

Beth sucks in another breath, her eyes wide, watching as he laughs, the sound almost musical, watches as he pinches the tablet out of Gretchen’s hands and walks over to the little meeting nook, flopping onto his back on the couch like he owns the thing. In seconds, he’s reading over Gretchen’s notes without even looking up, scrolling through - - her profile? One of the other girls’? Beth fidgets, swallows thickly, and it’s enough to make Gretchen glance back at her, wave a hand in brief apology, before striding over to the meeting nook, standing over him.

“You can take that into my office if you want to look through the girls so far,” Gretchen tells him. “I’ve still got a few left to meet with, and then we can - -”

Rio pulls a face, laughs at something, shakes his head, and it must be one of the girls’ information, and Beth flushes like it’s hers, blinks hard, because this is - -

“Shit, Gretch, you remember her?”

He holds up the tablet suddenly to Gretchen, and Beth can just make out the picture of a dull-eyed blonde with tight skin and great hair.

“She shot with Eddie a few years ago.”

Gretchen blinks.

“No, all the girls we’re meeting with are amateurs, new to the industry, we - - ”

“Nuh, think of her without that shit in her face and all that fuckin’ tanner. Without them blow-up titties too.”

Gretchen frowns, grabbing the tablet from him, forehead furrowing as she scrolls down the screen. She cusses, shaking her head while Rio just grins up at her.

“What did she call herself back then?”

Rio shrugs, but runs through a couple of names, and Beth frowns, glancing over at them, trying to - - to what, she’s got no idea. She bites the inside of her cheek. Should she go over? Should she leave? They look practically like they’re in a meeting now – doing something she shouldn’t be privy to, but Beth - - she thinks of Dean telling her 19% of nothing. She thinks of Michaela, telling her to invoice after she does the work.

She sucks in a breath.

“Excuse me,” she calls meekly, fiddling a little with the waist of her dress. “Um, would you like me to come back?”

“Moana Loud,” Gretchen says, and Rio barks on a laugh.

“Shit, that was her. Didn’t she give him somethin’?”

“Gonorrhoea,” Gretchen replies with a groan. “That was before we had the clinics send the results straight to us so they couldn’t be faked. Okay, so we’ll scrap her.”

Rio hums in agreement.

“That blonde with the tattoos too, I ain’t feelin’ it.”

“Really? I thought she had potential.”

Rio shakes his head, and Beth shifts her weight, looking between them, and she clears her throat, hoping it’ll grab their attention again, but Rio just keeps talking. Irritation sparks in her belly, her jaw rocks, frustrated.

“Nuh. Feel like I’ve fucked her already, probably a few times over.”

“She’s new to the industry.”

“ _She_ might be, but c’mon, sweetheart, you know there are a million hers in this business, and I ain’t feelin’ that no more.”

Gretchen rolls her eyes.

“Believe me, I know that. Are you sure you didn’t just want to shoot with Dylan again? You’ve always done good work together, and - - ”

“I’m sorry, but this is very rude,” Beth says with a huff, louder than she’d intended, and both Rio and Gretchen’s heads snap around to face her. She flushes instantly, and Rio just - - looks at her like he hadn’t even realised she was in the room. She shifts her weight again, tries to square her shoulders. “And - - that was rude too, of course, sorry,” she corrects herself, feels herself floundering, swallows. “You _did_ interrupt our meeting though, and I _did_ try to get your attention before, and um. I just mean. I had to wait a while before, and I have to pick my kids up from school in like, half an hour, and it would be great if Gretchen - - I mean, Ms. Zorada and I could finish up so this so that I could go and do that.”

She finishes it lamely, shrugs a little, and Rio’s mouth hangs open for a second, before he closes it in something close to a smile. Gretchen starts back towards her.

“Of course, Ms. Boland, I’m so sorr-”

But then Rio’s up on his feet, cutting Gretchen off and striding in front of her and heading straight towards Beth and she feels the flush burst across her face and neck again, stumbles a little back, because god, he’s so _fast_ , and then he just - - stops. Maybe a foot in front of her, enough she has to crane her neck to look up at him (did she seriously have to leave her shoes off?)

“’Ey,” Rio says, tilting his chin at her, and Beth blinks up at him, her eyes wide.

“Hi.”

His dark eyes drag hotly down her body, and it’s like - - like she’s sand, and he’s drawn a line in her with a stick – _his_ stick – oh god, Beth flushes, feels him - - just - - _feels him_.

“You interviewin’ to be Gretchen’s new secretary or somethin’?”

Beth blinks again.

“What? No, I - - ” she pauses, squints at him when she sees his lips tug up. “Funny,” she finishes dryly, and he shrugs, as if to say _I thought so_ , before reaching a hand over to the sleeve of her dress, smoothing it down.

“You know who I am, baby?”

Beth just nods sharply, her flush deepening when he just looks at her, unsurprised, nodding softly himself.

“I bet you do,” he purrs, lowering his voice. “Bet you know me real well, huh?”

God, she suddenly regrets ever even drawing attention to herself. She can’t peel her eyes off him though, can’t - -

Suddenly he steps back.

“Yeah, this one,” he tells Gretchen, who’s eyes bulge as she looks between them.

“Wait, really?”

“Really?” Beth squeaks, instantly realising – horrifyingly – what Rio’s just said, and Rio looks back at her again, appraisingly almost, before he sucks in his lips and nods sharply.

“Yeah,” he says, firmer this time – if that was even possible. He pulls his cellphone out of the back pocket of his pants, running off a text.

“We’d be wanting to shoot soon,” Gretchen says, a question in it or a warning, Beth can’t quite tell, and Rio doesn’t reply, just keeps texting someone _something_ , until Gretchen taps her foot on the floor.

“ _Rio_.”

He glances back up at her, almost lazy, and she tilts her head back to Beth.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says again, shrugging this time, before looking over at Beth and grinning. “Kinda wanna see how far down that blush goes.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

*

She’s barely stumbled out of the office, staggered into her car before she’s pulling out her phone, frantically dialling her sister’s number, and wriggling, jittery, in her seat as Annie finally picks up. 

“Just the woman I was wanting to talk to,” Annie says in lieu of hello. “On a scale of one to ten, if I put top loader laundry detergent in a front loader washing machine, what are the odds of me blowing up my apartment?”

“It’s _Rio_ ,” Beth hisses, and she hears Annie pause.

“Who’s starring in all your post-divorce fantasies? Yeah, sis, I know, join the club.”

“ _No_ ,” Beth says. “It’s _Rio_. Who they’re doing this whole - - whole search thing for! That ad I responded to – they were looking for a new - - a new _girl_ for him.”

She has to yank the phone away from her ear when Annie starts scream-laughing, and Beth folds forwards, dropping her head to the steering wheel of her car.

“He _picked me_ ,” Beth says, her voice wobbling, and Annie screeches again.

“Holy shit, Beth! You’re going to be boning Beyonce! You’re like Jay-Z or something. I can’t wait for your porn-o Louvre takeover.”

“This isn’t funny,” Beth snaps, and Annie laughs, the sound tinny over the line.

“I mean, it kind of is, B. Jesus, you’re going to be going from the man of nobody’s fantasies to the man of everybody’s fantasies, but more specifically _your_ fantasies. Your vagina isn’t gonna know what hit it.”

“Don’t say vagina,” Beth says sharply, and Annie laughs again.

“Would you rather punani? Pussy? Love cave?”

“I’d rather none of those things.”

“So did you meet him then?”

“Yeah,” Beth says, but then she bites the inside of her cheek and corrects herself. “Kind of.”

The meeting had been weird _before_ Rio had burst through the door, but only weirder after. Gretchen had had Beth undress, taken photos of her that had Beth flushed and uncertain because god, now she knew _exactly_ who’d be looking at them, before sitting her on the couch Rio had just been on and starting a squirm-inducing chat about what Beth was and wasn’t okay with doing on camera.

“God, I am brimming with jealousy right now,” Annie says, even though the only thing her tone is brimming with is amusement. “Tell me everything. Is his dick as big as it looks in his videos?”

Beth flushes, but rolls her eyes, folding back into her chair. She fumbles for her seatbelt, clipping herself in.

“He was kind of a jerk,” Beth says in lieu of answering Annie’s question, and Annie makes an annoyed noise on her behalf over the phone.

“Booo. I mean, it’s not a surprise. Dude’s probably used to everyone falling on his dick, that can’t be good for the ego.”

Frowning, Beth pushes the keys into the ignition, but doesn’t quite start the car yet. She knew that after all – has watched multiple videos of him with other women, just… It had been strange, she thinks, his vibe of authoritative and almost immature, boyishly flirtatious and mannishly demanding. She didn’t quite know what to make of him in their (very) brief interaction, and something in her gut told her that maybe he liked it that way. She fiddles a little with her keychain.

“I guess not,” she agrees, listening to the keys jangle.

“Whatever, there are more important things than porn-friend’s attitude right now,” Annie says, and well, at least that’s reliable, Beth thinks, already getting her eye roll started, expecting the worst, when Annie suddenly says. “You got a job! Yay! Money! Double yay!”

Beth blinks, and before she knows it, all thoughts of Rio’s attitude fall away and a sort of unfamiliar lightness fills her chest, an ease and an excitement and just a - - a _hope_.

“I got a job,” Beth says, half breathless, and Annie starts cheering her down the line, and just - -

A _job_. And she did it on her own.

She can’t wipe the smile off her face the rest of the day.

*

The week passes - - strangely, mostly. It’s not to say it’s bad exactly, but she spends more time with Gretchen in the _Thank You Ma’am_ offices than she thought would be necessary, going through a range of tests (STI test, a background check, a police check), and what Beth can only really describe as an interrogation from Gretchen about – well, everything else. It’s not so invasive exactly, just…Thorough.

(“We’ve come a long way over the last few years to really legitimize ourselves as a premier, professional studio with premier, professional talent. The last thing we need is a Twitter scandal because you’ve had affiliations with hate groups or were picking on another mom at your Stitch and Bitch. By the way, have you come up with a stage name yet? Our talent team has a few suggestions if you’re stuck.”)

And through it all, Beth doesn’t so much as see Rio wandering around the studio. Her interactions seem limited to Gretchen, a few producers, and some of the crew – the fact of which has disappointed Annie and Ruby to no end, and - - as much as she hates to admit it, maybe herself a little too.

Still, she thinks, as Gretchen collects her from the foyer and leads her towards the meeting room. It’s not like she won’t ever be seeing him.

Seeing _all_ of him.

Up close, personal-style.

“All your results came back clean, by the way,” Gretchen says after a quick greeting, picking up her pace, and Beth blinks over at her, quickening her own step to keep up.

“Oh! Good,” Beth says, and Gretchen gives her an easy grin.

“Not so much as a parking ticket.”

“I’ve always been a bit of a girl scout,” Beth replies with a shrug, and Gretchen laughs, holding open the door for her and gesturing her through into the room. She’s surprised to find a neat little meeting room, with a couple of men with slick hair and well-fitted suits at the other side of the table, and Beth racks her head to remember what today was even supposed to be about.

“This is Noah and Max, two of our story developers,” Gretchen says, as if she’s read her mind. She gestures for Beth to sit down. “They’ve been doing some brainstorming this week, and have some scenarios in mind. Rio has it in his contract that he gets sign-off on every stage, particularly story, so he should be here in just a moment too.”

Beth nods, feels something in her chest tighten, and across the table, one of the guys looks her up and down, as if he’s weighing her.

“This is her?”

Gretchen rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be an asshole, Noah.”

“How am I being an asshole, I’m just - - surprised, y’know? Aren’t I allowed to have an opinion?”

“Sure,” Gretchen says. “But I’d keep it to yourself until you’re the multi-award winning star doing the fucking.”

Noah laughs, and Beth has to bite back the heat in her cheeks. She shifts uncomfortably, folding her hands in her lap, resisting the urge to look at any of them, and thankfully she’s saved from even acknowledging it by the door pushing open and Rio stepping in – hoodie pulled up over his ears, slurping on a Big Gulp.

“Yo,” he says easily, and Gretchen huffs out a breath, giving him a disapproving look that makes Beth’s gaze dart between them. The two guys across the table immediately puff out their chests, watching as Rio drops into the seat beside Beth, still slurping on the straw of his drink.

“My man,” Noah starts, holding his hands out. “Where you been? Me and Max were just saying last week, we feel like it’s been a year since we last wrote for you.” 

Rio rolls his eyes a little, which - - god, _rude_ , Beth thinks with a frown. Not that these guys don’t seem like assholes, but still.

“Seriously, we’d drummed up this great little movie for your boy, Eddie, a few weeks ago. Threesome with two of the best girls in the biz, and he was telling us you were - - ”

“Whatchu got for me, man?”

The words stop Noah instantly, and the guy just sort of shuffles on the spot, glancing sideways at Max who looks almost _afraid_ , and god, what is even going _on_? Beth looks back at Rio, who’s back to sucking on his straw, gaze fixed, almost unblinkingly on Noah.

He’s almost a little scary, and it tightens low in Beth in a way that doesn’t really feel like fear.

“Right, man of action, I like it, I like it. Always the pro, this guy, huh?”

Noah glances over to Gretchen, who’s stone-faced and unimpressed and at least it’s enough to spring Noah into action.

“We’re thinking, boxer,” he says, half folded over the table, pointing to Rio with his pen as if to punctuate the point, before flicking it sideways to Beth. “Yoga teacher. Perhaps a bit of competition for space at the gym that you, you know. _Work out_.”

The other guy laughs beside him, almost practiced, while Gretchen’s eyes fix steadily on Rio, almost - - almost in anticipation. Of what, Beth has no idea, her own gaze drifting over to him, but he’s not even looking at her, just stays sucking on the straw of his huge plastic cup, hoodie pulled up around his ears, face blank.

“You do yoga?”

It takes her a moment to realise that he’s even talking to her, and when she does, Beth flusters, flushes, wracks her head for any time in her life she’s been to the gym at all, let alone a class. She swallows thickly. 

“Um, a little? I did some classes while I was pregnant, um, I - -”

“So you ain’t got the flexibility,” Rio tells her, or not her, the guys across the table. He drops his drink down to his knee, letting the condensation from the cup leave a wet circle on his jeans. “Ain’t that the point with fucking a yoga instructor? You gonna teach her that shit before we shoot next week?”

Noah looks almost ashen, spluttering a bit back at Rio, when suddenly the other guy leaps in.

“Okay,” he says quickly. “New scenario. She’s your kid’s teacher. She’s called you in to discuss their grades, you - -”

Gretchen suddenly sits forwards on her seat, gesturing to the guy, says, “No, Rio doesn’t - - ”

“I don’t do nothin’ with kids,” Rio says, cutting her off sharply, and the guy blinks back at him.

“I mean, it’s inferred kids. They wouldn’t actually be in the film.”

“Nuh, none of it. You want that DILF shit, you go with one of the other guys workin’ that scene, I ain’t it.”

Noah huffs out a breath, but instantly regrets it when Rio levels him with a look.

“She’s your maid,” he starts instead, and Rio just laughs, which only makes Beth flush.

“Best friend’s wife,” Max cuts in, and god, they’re ping-ponging now, tossing out ideas: he’s a delivery man, a plumber, her divorce lawyer. She’s a mail-order bride, a woman who runs a mindfulness class, a nurse, and each one Rio shoots down – he’s done it before, it’s boring, and on one particularly embarrassing note, would rather do a scene like that with someone who _‘looks like she might actually know how to do it.’_

She’s not really sure what to say – what to think, when one of the guys finally throws his hands up in exasperation, says:

“Her husband owes you money. You’re a - - bad debt. You go to collect, he’s not there, and she’s - - y’know, a _good girl_ , and you and her work something out.”

And it’s just - - quiet for a moment.

Which only makes Beth spin back around to look at Rio, who’s suddenly looking straight at her, that damn straw back in his mouth as he drags his gaze down her body, undressing her with his eyes and it’s like he’s - - _imagining_ it, she thinks, flushing to the roots of her hair. She clears her throat, and it seems to pull Rio out of - - whatever it was he was in. He promptly shrugs, lurching to his feet.

“That’ll do,” he says, striding out of the room, and Gretchen’s eyes widen dramatically, just like they had the other day when Rio had picked Beth, her eyes going from her to the guys beside her before suddenly she’s getting to her feet too and striding out of the room after Rio, and Beth’s just left sitting there. About eight hundred types of embarrassed.

It’s not long before one of the guys snorts on a laugh, shaking his head and collapsing back into his chair. He grabs a vape pen out of his pocket, pushing it against his lips. 

“Was he always this much of an asshole?”

“Pretty much,” Noah says, and then he looks back at Beth, seems to consider her again, before yelling out into the hall.

“Mindy!”

A woman materialises in the doorway, achingly thin and wobbling on six inch heels.

“Yes, Mr Anderson?”

“Could you take - - ” he clicks his fingers at Beth, and she opens her mouth to reply with her name, but the guy doesn’t wait. “To the costume team? We’re probably looking at shooting next week – I’ll send through the details tonight from the story room. Um, housewife. Sexy but also like. Kinda innocent? Thinking little nightie and a robe? Tits out, but not totally, you know? Enough that a guy that looks like Rio might actually wanna fuck her, you know?”

Beth just stares at him at that, taking in the slope of his nose and his dumb, boyish face, and she’s mortified but she’s also halfway to saying _fuck you_ , when Mindy’s gesturing her out of the room, and just think of the money, Beth tells herself, sucking in a breath.

Think of the future. 

*

Finally switching off the sewing machine, Beth sags back in her seat, rubbing at her forehead. After she’d passed the tests, after the meeting, Gretchen had been happy to give her an advance – to pay her for her time so far – and Beth had almost fallen to the floor in relief, taking the two-thousand dollar cheque straight to the bank and then spending almost half of it on groceries and fabric for the ballet school. She’d made the most special dinner she could think of – one that had the kids excited after weeks of vegetable pasta bakes and lentils instead of meat (because god, she forgets how much meat costs for four hungry kids), and they’d been practically bouncing off the walls before it and in adorable, pink-cheeked food comas after it.

After getting them all to bed, she’d managed to look through some of the paperwork for the house that Dean had finally sent through, and been panicked enough by it to power sew her way through a few costumes.

She lurches to her feet, exhaustion settling in between her shoulder blades as she heads to her bar cart and pours herself a bourbon. She stands for a moment, just - - stops, and the reality of that almost makes her collapse, so she throws back her drink, pours herself another and heads towards her room.

Flopping down on her bed, she groans, kicking off her shoes and shuffling up the bed. She needs to start a new budget. She needs to look at that accountant Ruby sent her and the lawyer that Annie did, but just - - god, she just wishes she could _relax_. The thought alone sends something wriggly and warm through her body. She bites her lip, and before she can think any more of it, grabs her laptop, opening up the _Thank You, Ma’am_ website.

She flicks over onto the ‘Stars’ page, selecting Rio’s profile and drifting down through his videos, finding one of her favourites (he’s a mechanic, his skin slick with sweat and oil, a little dirty, his voice low - - she clenches her legs together at even the thought). She unbuttons her jeans, slipping her hand down the front of them, just gently touching herself through her panties as the movie starts up.

A beautiful woman strides onto the screen, her afro bobbing as she walks. 

“Hi, can anyone here help me? My car broke down up the road and I could really use a pair of _talented_ hands to help me out with it.”

From beneath a car, Rio slides out on one of those little skateboards, and Beth’s breath hitches, watching as he moves – all leonine grace towards the other woman. He purses his lips, and suddenly all Beth can see is his mouth on that straw today, sitting beside her, his gaze somehow both focused and lazy, and she blinks hard, rubbing herself a little harder, her legs squirming among the sheets.

“Well, you came to the right place, baby. I can tell you my hands are some of the most talented around.”

The woman giggles, twirling her hair around her finger, thrusting her chest up.

“I guess my luck is about to change then, huh?”

Beth’s breath shortens, her fingers pushing up into the crotch of her panties, and god, they’re soaked already, the thought making her groan. She shifts back in the bed, watching as Rio suddenly peels out of his mechanic jump suit to reveal his strong arms and lithe chest, his hands coming up to grip the woman and push her up onto the car bonnet he was working under, and is that about to be her?

Suddenly the image comes too quickly, the actress in the film suddenly her, Rio’s hands on her legs, not on a stranger’s, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, making her gasp, his full lips crashing down on hers, his sharp teeth biting at her lip, making her gasp, and just - -

She comes before she even imagines him inside her which makes her laugh a little too loudly, a little too desperately, because they’ll be making one of these things themselves next week, and how the hell is she supposed to get through _that_?

*

And - - okay.

Maybe that thought sticks.

“Damn, B, these look seriously amazing,” Ruby says, pulling up one of the costumes for the butterfly class at the ballet school, and Beth smiles, exhausted back at her. It’s been good to get a headstart on the costumes anyway, but even better, it’s been good to get her mind off the first rehearsal tomorrow.

Gretchen had rung her yesterday to tell her that Noah and Max had a draft shooting script, and that they’d found the perfect director in their stable who was both great at what he did and great at directing newcomers, and that the costume department had some looks for her that were “to die for”, and just - - reality had caught up.

Because sure, this was a job, but it was also her. Having sex for the first time since Janey was born, and doing it on camera with a bona fide porn star. She says as much to Ruby now, sitting in Dean’s old office she’d only this week claimed as her new sewing room.

“I guess I’m just realising I’m probably in over my head,” she tells Ruby when she’s done, swirling her bourbon around in the glass, a flush to her cheeks. “It’s not like I can back out now anyway, they’ve paid me half.”

“Do you want to back out?”

“No. Yes? No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just - - god, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m going to get in there, and I’m going to be - -”

Beth sighs, cutting herself off, sitting back in her seat. She keeps thinking of the way Noah told Mindy to try and make her look like someone Rio would want to fuck. Keeps thinking of _Rio_ dismissing scenarios based on what she looked like she could and couldn’t do too, and just - - god, what is she _doing_? She tosses back the last of her drink.

“Did I tell you I found our old yearbook?”

Beth blinks, opens her mouth, furrows her forehead as she looks across the room at Ruby.

“What?”

Ruby hums, taking a sip of her own glass of bourbon, a dreamily nostalgic look on her face.

“Yep – ’93, our junior year. I’d forgotten we were so into mom jeans.”

Which - - sure. Beth laughs before she can help herself, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s amazing either of us had boyfriends,” she says, and Ruby nods, laughing.

“Amazing both those boyfriends married us,” she agrees, and before Beth can even comment on that, she adds: “You know what else I’d forgotten – you in that production of _Grease_. Opposite - - who was it?”

“Ethan Parker,” Beth says instantly, and god, _she’d_ forgotten that. It feels like so long ago, so many problems ago. So many _hurts_ ago. “I got kicked out of the production though.”

Because she had. She’d been cast as Sandy and she can still remember the total thrill of getting the lead role, how much she’d practiced, how exciting the prospect of being on that stage had been, of being someone else, of being seen, of being seen as somebody who wasn’t stupid little Bethie Marks.

It hadn’t worked out though. She’d missed too many rehearsals, running around after Annie, helping her mother, and the drama teacher had needed somebody who’d _treat this commitment seriously_. She still remembers mopping up her tears in the front yard so that Annie wouldn’t see her crying when she went inside.

“I wasn’t in it in the end though,” she tells Ruby now, and Ruby shakes her head.

“Maybe not, but I remember you practicing. You were _good_ , B. A natural Sandy – all fun, and flirty and cute. The bitch who replaced you was a total snooze and like, stumbled her way through. You’re a lot of things, but you don’t stumble your way through anything.”

Beth just stares at her, forehead furrowed, smiling, not entirely sure what Ruby wants her to get out of this, when Ruby laughs, rolls her eyes, leans forward enough to grab her hand.

“All I’m saying is you’re going to _get there_ , and you’re going to be amazing. You’re going to crush this job, bring home a fat paycheque, buy up the craft store to make more of this amazing shit, and you’re going to stay in this damn house. And you’re going to do all that because you’ve got chops. Use ‘em.”

*

“So what we’re thinking is Rio, you’re knocking, right? And Beth, we’ll have you run down the stairs there, maybe still tying your nightie so the camera can get a little look at you before the main event, y’know? And then you’re letting Rio in - -” 

Max holds his fingers out as a fake gun, waving them over at Beth.

“Where’s your husband, bitch?”

Noah adopts a high falsetto, waving his hand clutching his script notes up in the air.

“Oh my god, what do you want with my Peter?”

Beth frowns at the impression, but they both keep going.

“Your husband’s done some _bad things_ , baby, and I’m here to collect. Your good man’s about to be a dead man.”

Beth chances a glance first at the director and cameraman, watching from the side of the sound stage, and then over at Rio, who’s looking unimpressed between Noah and Max, and well, at least it’s not just her.

“No! Not my Peter!” Noah screeches. “Whatever he owes you, I’m sure we can work something out. Yadda yadda yaddda,” he turns the page. “Rio pulls out his cock, Beth blows him. We’re thinking maybe a facial? Or you come on her tits or whatever, then maybe a bit of doggy on the floor, then we move to the couch. A lap dance?”

“We weren’t sure about that one,” Max interjects, striding across the floor, pinching the script notes from Noah’s hand and flipping through it.

“I think it’d work,” Noah says, rolling his eyes, gesturing to Beth. “She backs up on him, does a bit of a bump and grind to get him hard again, then Rio can be fondling her tits and stuff, we can get a bunch of close-ups. Maybe get her bra off then, turn it into a bit of a strip tease-slash-undressing. Then you fuck on the couch, maybe do some dirty talk about like, leaving your come inside her while she sleeps beside her husband. She can talk about needing it again, being addicted to your huge, bad boy cock. Something like that.”

And god, Beth’s pretty sure her soul has departed her body at this point. She’s so red she could probably replace stop signals in traffic lights, and she chances a glance over to Rio again, surprised to see him staring straight back at her, an unreadable expression on his face. After a minute, he shrugs.

“Let’s play it out, see how we go.”

Noah smiles, pleased, and Beth shifts her weight, feeling about as awkward as she thinks it’s possible to feel as Rio grabs the script notes off of Max and skims through them. They’re both dressed pretty casually – Gretchen had said it was best to aim for something she could move easily in during rehearsal as they’d be experimenting with positions and flexibility, and Beth had wound up in a pair of stretchy black leggings and an old Minnie Mouse t-shirt that had made Rio bite back a grin when he’d seen her. Rio himself was in a pair of black jeans and a loose tank top, looking rudely handsome, she thinks, squinting at him.

The set itself was one of the regular studio sets – to the point where she even recognised it from videos she’d watched. Little more than a soundstage with a front door, a mock living room, and half a set of stairs. Rio strides out across the thing, walking towards the other side of the fake door, and the director suddenly appears behind Noah’s shoulder jerking his head, gesturing Beth up the stairs and she walks quickly across, jittery with nervous energy.

“Okay, go,” Noah says, and Rio bangs his fist against the door so hard that Beth jumps a little.

“Yo, open up!” he yells, his voice gravelly, and Beth practically falls down the fake stairs at it, shuffling awkwardly towards the door. She glances back at Noah and Max, who are just watching her, script back in their hands, and god, does she even have any lines? Rio at least got to see the pages, and it’s not like she got sent anything before it. She clears her throat, says:

“Not without knowing who it is.”

And then it’s just - - quiet for a moment. Was that the wrong thing to say? Beth doesn’t know! She cringes a little, shuffles awkwardly closer to the door, glances back at the director who looks like he’s about to say something when Rio’s voice sounds instead.

“I’m the guy your bitch-ass husband owes 300g.”

It’s weird then, the thrill that shoots through her, because everyone’s looking at her like she’s insane but Rio, he - - he riffed off her. They’re _riffing_. _She’s_ riffing with one-name-porn-star-Rio and Ruby believes in her and she’s already been paid two-thousand-dollars for this and is going to get more and - - and maybe she can keep doing that and this won’t feel so out of control.

“My husband isn’t a _bitch_ , and neither is his ass,” she says quickly, and it’s sudden then, the sound, and it takes her a minute to realise everyone’s laughing. Not _at_ her, but at her joke. She stands up a little straighter, can’t quite stop the pleased expression on her face.

“Listen, lady,” Rio calls through the door. “Me and him got business to work out.”

“Well, he’s not here,” Beth tells him, and Rio’s quiet then for a minute, but before he gets the chance to reply, she makes a show of stepping up on her tiptoes, staring through the peephole, and deliberately changing her tone. “But maybe I could open the door and you and me could work that business out.”

She wriggles her butt a bit, which – okay, might be overdoing it, but she figures if she’s going to do this, she may as well lean all the way in.

Noah hollers on a laugh, says, “Holy shit, okay,” as Rio suddenly opens the door. He steps forwards into it, immediately into Beth’s space, and she backs up a little before she can help herself, stomach suddenly lurching at his powerful stride and his - - y’know, his _face_.

“Oh, is that right?” he asks, and Beth bites her lip, blinks up at him through her lashes, not in the way porn’s shown her, but maybe in the way her mom taught her to make boys like you. Still - - she swallows thickly, suddenly nervous with him in front of her, and the director gestures then.

“Knees, Beth,” he calls, and - - right. She drops a little too heavily to her knees, making an _oof_ sound as she does it, looking around again only to come face-to-face with Rio’s bulging crotch through his jeans. She flushes.

“So, you blow him,” Noah says, grabbing his notes again and rolling his hand out at the wrist. He glances up towards Rio: “Where do you want to come?”

Beth blinks, looking up at Rio, and he’s just - - looking down at her, his dark eyes somehow darker. He rocks his jaw a little, and Beth’s stomach lurches again, and then a third time when he runs his hands back through her hair, jerks her head back in a way that makes her gasp. He looks at her face, then at her breasts, like he’s considering it.

“Nuh, not yet. We should go straight into fuckin’.”

“Sure,” Noah says, powering on. “Then – doggy?”

Beth sinks back into her legs, and Rio gestures her around, until she’s facing away from him, pushing her gently so that she falls forwards onto her hands and knees, the carpet rough at both. There’s a thud behind her, and she blushes as she realises that’s his knees hitting the ground behind her. She blinks hard as his crotch presses against her ass, and just - - okay, she thinks, flushing furiously. Definitely as big as his movies make him seem. She wriggles forwards, and he grabs her hips, pulling her back against him. He thrusts against her a few times, as if trying it out, and Beth tries to pretend there’s no one else in the room.

“The camera’s not going to be able to get a good enough look at her like this on the floor,” the director calls, and Beth blinks, tries to ignore the heat rushing low in her too when Rio pulls her up a little by the back of her shirt, so she’s sort of half kneeling in front of him, his hand coming around to grab her breast, making her gasp, holding her there. He thrusts against her again, knocking her forwards, as if to just check he can still do it this way too. 

“This a better angle?”

“Much,” the director says, nodding to the man with the camera who hurries forwards and takes a few pictures. “Keep going. We might get Climax 1 here?”

“Nah, man,” Rio says, pulling off her and Beth gasps when suddenly he spins her around, hauls her better up until she finally finds her feet again. “She won’t last long there. Her legs about to give.”

“So put her on her back then,” Noah suggests, and Rio shakes his head, walking her easily over to the couch, and pushing her gently over the arm rest until her back hits the sofa cushions below.

“It’s her first time doin’ this, and the carpet in here ain’t shit. Her knees’ll be raw by the end of tomorrow and wrecked by the end of the shoot we do that.”

“Well, what are you suggesting?”

Rio looks down at Beth on the couch, tilts his head from side to side, and Beth can feel herself flush under the weight of his gaze, by the sort of impenetrable focus of it. Before she can help herself, she starts to get up, only for Rio to suddenly lurch forwards, grabbing her by the backs of her knees and hauling them up, pressing her thighs back into her chest. He promptly kneels on the couch behind her, pressing his covered crotch against hers, so firmly she can feel the zip on his jeans against her - - her - -

Beth swallows thickly, stares at the ceiling, feeling him roll his crotch against hers, and god, this was a mistake, this was - -

“Let go of her legs,” the camera guy says. “Get them on your shoulders so we can get her tits in the frame.”

Rio does, and Beth shifts a little back, more out of instinct than anything, to give them space only to have Rio glance down at her and follow her back along the couch, his crotch resting tightly against hers again.

The camera guy takes a few photos of the position, and then adds:

“And then next?”

Rio looks down at Beth, pulls her up enough and turns her over, so her chest hangs over the arm of the chair and he’s kneeling behind her, pulling her back against him.

“Might spank her a few times,” Rio says eyeing her off, and Beth’s eyes widen, heat washing over her cheeks as she glances back at him.

“Excuse me?”

It’s enough to make him pop an eyebrow down at her, amusement colouring his features and - - something else too, something she can’t quite work out.

“Might spank you a few times. That okay? You rather I do somethin’ else?”

Beth opens her mouth to reply, splutters, tries to think of how on earth to respond to that, and Rio just laughs.

“You welcome to suggest somethin’, sweetheart. Floor’s open.”

And she starts to get up, but he just slides a hand over her shoulders, pushing her firmly back down and clicking at the camera guy with his other hand.

“You get one of the cameras down here, get her face, get her chest. I’ll get her tits bouncin’ for you, yeah?”

And just - - god, she squirms under his weight in a sudden hot frustration, and the second the camera man comes into view, Beth shoves up so suddenly, so quickly that she headbutts Rio, clips his chin, and he folds back onto the couch. Beth spins, as quickly as she can, before crawling over his body, staring at him defiantly, imbuing her voice with as much saccharine sweetness as she can manage as she says: “A suggestion.”

She’s not entirely sure what she’s expecting, but it’s certainly not for his cock to twitch underneath her, and she inhales sharply, moves to get off him out of - - out of what, she’s not sure, when Rio grabs her hips, holding her still.

“You wanna be on top, all you gotta do is ask, baby,” he tells her, and Beth blinks down, a little surprised by the soothing nature of his tone, and then feels her body bounce up as his hips jerk beneath her. She gasps, falling forwards onto his chest, and he laughs, hands dropping to her ass, squeezing _hard_ and pulling her against him.

“Climax 1 here, yeah?” he calls, grinding up into her, and Beth feels a heat shoot through her – feels herself, _despite herself,_ grind back, feeling herself _clench,_ and just - - 

The director nods, pleased.

“Looks good to me,” he says, before looking over at Noah and Max. “Your lap dance won’t fit here.”

“Right,” Noah agrees, flicking through his script notes before nervously tapping his foot. “Okay, Rio pulls out after coming inside her, but then he finger fucks her to her second O, then gets her sucking both of them off his fingers?”

And just - - Beth stares down, unblinking, at Rio underneath her, who looks up at her, laughs, his eyes dark, hooded, and then just - - leans up, bites her chin dimple - - which - - _what_? Before she can so much as begin to process that, he’s rocking them both up to their feet and off the couch, smacking her ass before striding across to Noah and grabbing the script again.

“Yeah, how you thinkin’ that? Standin’ up?”

And just - - right, Beth thinks, wobbly on her legs, fingers touching her chin, still feeling his teeth, heat shooting through her.

Right.

*

So they run through the whole thing once, then a second time, then a third.

Run through it enough times that Beth is sore and exhausted and annoyingly horny, and she’s pretty sure her cheeks are going to be a permanent shade of red for the rest of her life and she’s _also_ pretty sure that the stitching on her leggings is so close to tearing from all the - - bending over and _leg spreading_ that they’re going to fall off her the second she tries to take them off.

She huffs out a breath, grabbing her coat and only half paying attention to where the camera guy and the director are still eyeing off the space, muttering to each other, showing each other photographs on the small screen of the camera for tomorrow. It’d probably be a good idea to get an in with them after all – to be better prepared, but all she can really think about is going home, pouring herself the biggest glass of bourbon she can manage, and hand stitching some sequins onto little girls’ tutus while she cries over _Queer Eye_ re-runs before like, masturbating herself to sleep.

Humming at the prospect, Beth steps out into the cool night air only to find herself stopped by a slight tug on her shoulder.

Spinning on the spot, she’s surprised to find herself face-to-face with Rio, and just - - god, the blush finds her cheeks before she can help it. She swallows thickly.

“Hi,” she says, and he nods at her, letting go of her shoulder to button up his own coat, looking at her in a way that’s almost friendly.

“You gotta pick any kids up from school, mama?” he asks, and Beth blinks over at him, eyes wide as she realises he’s joking. She offers him a half-smile.

“Given it’s almost 8, I’d be really worried if I did,” she replies lightly, and Rio grins at her. “No, they’re actually having a sleepover at one of their aunt’s tonight.”

Rio nods, taking her in again. He stretches his neck a little, like he’s as stiff as Beth feels, and it’s cold out here, in the night, but standing here, opposite him, Beth doesn’t quite feel it. She shifts her weight as he finishes doing up his coat.

“Don’t know ‘bout you, but I could use a drink,” he says, and Beth blinks, because of all the things she thought to come out of his mouth, that was probably the very last thing. She stares at him disbelievingly.

“You want to get a drink with me?”

“Get a drink _beside_ you,” he clarifies, a grin tugging at his lips, and he’s making fun of her, she knows, but weirdly it still kind of helps. She buries her hands in the pockets of her jacket – thinks about bourbon and sequins and _Queer Eye_ and a pile of bills _,_ and then she thinks about his weight on top of her, and - - 

“Okay. As long as it’s beside.”

He laughs, pulling a beanie out of his pocket, yanking it down over his ears and walking her out of the office towards the road.

*

They end up at a dive bar somewhere only a few blocks away from the studio, a tiny thing with posters half-stripped off walls, a strong smell of bad beer, fairy lights dangling from the ceilings and actually a really good little band battling the cold in the courtyard.

She glances back over to him, working her hand around the glass in her hands, catching the beads of condensation. She feels drunker than she is – and all she can blame it on is today – on running through potential positions with him, rehearsing with him – _feeling_ him, despite the fact that they didn’t even take off their clothes. God, he hadn’t even taken off his belt. Shifting back against the bar stool, Beth bites her lip, watching the liquid slosh before letting her gaze flick back to him, his face half lit up by his phone screen, forehead furrowed, lips twisted a little in something like amusement.

“Who do you keep texting anyway?” she asks, before she can think any more of it. “Someone from your harem?”

He doesn’t even look up at her when he snorts, and stupid, Beth thinks. He’d said it after all, hadn’t he? This was drinking _beside_ each other, not _with_ each other _._ How many women had he filmed this sort of thing with anyway? At least a hundred. Beth was just a blow in, a tourist in this world, albeit one he was going to be fucking five ways from Sunday over the next couple of days, but still, this was - - 

“If you can call an ex that,” he drawls, breaking up Beth’s thoughts. “She got our son this week. I’m checkin’ in.”

The words are enough to throw a rock through the glass window of him in her head, and Beth finds herself reeling back in her barstool, chest flushing, eyes widening, and she blinks multiple times, staring back at him, shaking her head.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I just sort of assumed - - ”

And she’s fully prepared to do a full blown apology tour when Rio drops his phone back to the bar and turns in his stool to face her, enough that his knee grazes her thigh as he spins, and Beth has to take a wobbly drink to stop herself doing something stupid like lean into it.

“Nah, it’s cool,” he replies easily, reaching back for his own drink. “You got kids?”

And hell, at least that feels like familiar territory.

“You know I do. Four though. Two girls, two boys,” she replies, grinning a little, remembering the picture Emma had drawn her at school yesterday, the way Danny had waved so much he’d missed catching the ball in the outfield at his last baseball game. Beside her, Rio’s eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead.

“Shit. And they all got the same dad?”

Beth inhales, instantly offended until she looks over at him again and sees the look on his face, and just - - it’s payback for the harem comment, which is just - -

“Touché,” she says, tilting her glass at him and taking another swig of her drink. “And yes. But I think you might know that already too.”

He gives her a shit eating grin in reply that sort of makes her want to kiss him, and the thought sends a livewire of shock through her body. God - - she can’t remember the last time she’s wanted to kiss someone. She looks away, squirms a little in her seat, and it’s sudden then – the memory of watching him – pixelated on her laptop screen, his perfect lips spinning terrible dialogue, his perfect chest as he pulls off his shirt, his perfect, almost-too-big cock - -

“He know you ‘bout to debut?”

Beth blinks, feels too hot as she reels back around to look at him, and it takes her a moment to even process his words, her lips dropping to his mouth and god - - how many women has she seen those lips kiss, bite, eat out. She clears her throat, tries to recollect herself. 

“Excuse me?”

Rio swivels back in his bar stool, rapping his knuckles on the counter, catching the attention of the bartender. He gestures for another two drinks. Without even looking at her, Rio adds:

“Your baby daddy. He know he about to see all o’ you blowin’ up his channels.”

With a snort, Beth finishes off her drink, placing it on the bar only to have another slid immediately in front of her. She takes it without a second thought, too fixated on the way Dean had grizzled at her when she’d called him and asked him to take the kids this weekend – _you ‘figured it out’ yet then? Got your accountant? A lawyer? Or did you just realise all of this cost money?_

“He doesn’t exactly have any right to,” she bites, taking a drink, and it’s enough to make Rio pop an eyebrow at her. Enough to make him take her in again, in that way he’s been doing since the audition last week. That way that makes her feel simultaneously too seen and not seen at all.

“Guessin’ you ain’t together then,” he drawls, and Beth just snorts.

“No.”

“That recent?”

“Yes.”

“Ah,” he says, grinning, like he’s just figured something out. “So this is revenge.”

The sounds of the bar suddenly seem pervasive. To flood across Beth’s senses – the sounds of bustle and chatter at her ears, the smell of sour alcohol, body odour, cheap perfume at her nose, the clammy heat of the air clamping at her skin, but none of it matters. Not when all she can see is Rio – both cocksure and newly disinterested, draining his gin in one long gulp. He looks at her, and then pointedly looks away from her, eyes scanning the crowd at the bar, like he’s looking for someone else, anything else, and Beth exhales a breath she didn’t know she was holding in.

“Excuse me?”

“You doin’ this to piss him off, yeah?” and just - - god, he’s not even _looking_ at her, his eyes still scanning the bar. “He keep you on a leash or somethin’? Fuck around on you? You wanna show him you got options? You wanna show everyone he know you got options too?”

And just - - Beth’s blinking at him a little wildly then, the flush deepening at her chest, anger sparking like a match in her belly, and she leans across the bar towards him, forcing herself into his line of vision, into his space.

“I’m not shooting a porno to piss off my ex,” she hisses, and Rio does look back at her at that, his eyebrow raised, his expression faux innocent.

“No? Why then? You dreamt o’ gettin’ your suburban mama o’ four ass railed on camera since you first rubbed one out?”

“ _Fuck you_.”

And he just laughs at that, eyes darting down to Beth’s furious, heaving chest, before he looks back at her, his eyebrow still raised, his dark eyes a little too blown – predatory almost, as he adds: 

“How many men you been with, huh? You gonna let me guess? Three?”

And the question - - it makes sense to ask, god, even Gretchen had half-asked it when she’d sent her for an STI check, but right now it makes her squirm, no matter how much she tilts her chin and puffs out her chest, and Rio just - - he _laughs_.

“Shit, less than three? Don’t tell me you only ever fucked that ex-husband of yours,” and when Beth doesn’t disagree fast enough, he tilts his head, patronising, as he adds. “Oh, baby girl.”

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Beth hisses, as soon as she wrangles up a shred of her voice, and Rio laughs again, louder this time, something resigned and - - and if she knew him any better, she’d say almost disappointed in his tone.

He leans forwards suddenly, almost into her, enough that Beth twitches back in her seat, has to stop herself from reeling back, the sweet and earthy smell of him filling her nose. She’s still trying to figure out what he’s doing when she realises he’s only leaning up enough to pull his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, toss a few easy bills from it onto the bar, paying for both of them. Beth watches, still trying to catch up to the conversation, when Rio slides off his barstool altogether, stands up and just - - _looks_ at her.

She has to resist the urge to wriggle, to smooth down her hair or straighten her coat, suddenly too conscious of the fraying leggings and Minnie Mouse shirt underneath it. Just stares back at him, her eyes fixed, firm, _steady_. God, she hopes her gaze is steady.

After a minute, he sighs.

“Look,” he says, voice softer than it has been. “You done good, but you outta your depth. Everyone in that room today knew it. Call Gretchen, pull the plug. Go home to all those babies. Coz this ain’t it, okay? It ain’t what you lookin’ for. I can promise you that.”

Somewhere behind her, someone drops their drink, the glass shattering across the bar floor. A girl yelps, a man laughs. Somebody yells _I love this song_.

Beth opens her mouth to reply, but before the words can leave her mouth, Rio’s hand drifts down her cheek, his fingers gliding down her jaw, before finally bucking up her chin, where he bit her only hours before.

“Nice meetin’ you though, yeah?”

And just like that, he’s gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Or he’s not gone.

Rather, he’s slipping through the fray of the bar like a stream slipping through a forest, the line of him long, seamless, powerful, but effortless, and it’s too easy to watch him. To watch the languid stride of him, the air about him unbothered, the way he bumps into somebody he must know – a woman, younger, petite, who reaches up to hug him, and he hugs her back, a wide, easy smile on his face like he hadn’t just said what he’d said to her, and Beth thinks - - she thinks - -

_Asshole_.

She tosses back her drink in one thick, burning swallow, her skin prickling with - - god, anger? Humiliation? Hurt? Every badly patched up wound in her somehow re-opened, and she slides off her barstool, grabs her purse, blinking back the hot swell of bitter tears, already ordering a Lyft on her cell as she searches the bar for another exit, the prospect of him watching her leave after - - after _that_ somehow too much to bear.

The bartender seems to get it, directing her to the back, and Beth steals out, careful not to look back even though she can _feel_ it still – his gaze on her, and god, she just needs to not be _here_.

*

“And then what?”

“Then I left,” Beth tells her, grabbing a pair of powder blue sweatpants from the bottom drawer of her tallboy, shaking them out. She bites the inside of her lip, squinting a little. She doesn’t usually wear these ones out of the house, at least not anymore – they’re _very_ well-worn after all, and the stitching has started to go on one of the ankles, but they’re by far her most comfortable pair, and comfort _was_ what Gretchen had recommended she pack for.

On her bed behind her, Annie makes a loud, outraged noise on her behalf, pushing herself up on her arms so she’s in a sort of quasi yoga back-bend that reminds Beth of the video - - the one where Rio is a yoga instructor and he - -

God.

She sucks in a breath, willing the blush out of her cheeks, feeling an annoyance – at him, at _herself_ – spike in her belly. It’s really not fair, she thinks, aggressively folding her pair of sweatpants and pushing them down into her sports bag.

“He sounds like a total dick,” Annie offers finally, shaking her head, watching as Beth packs her bag for the shoot that day.

And yeah, Beth thinks in her head, grabbing her hoodie off her corner chair to pack too. _Dick_. That’s what he was. He’d been a dick when they’d met and a dick at the meetings, and last night was just him _underlining_ the fact that he was a dick. Punctuating the point so there could be no mistake, and really Beth should’ve known better. Should’ve seen him for what he was the _minute_ she met him, a cocky, arrogant, _rude,_ handsome - -

“You okay there, B?”

Beth blinks up to see Annie staring back at her, a look of tentative concern on her face, and Beth lets her gaze drop to her hands, which have folded her hoodie into a sort of furious little ball and - - right.

“I’m fine,” Beth tells her, shaking out the hoodie faux-casually to refold it. “Just a little nervous, I guess.”

“Doy,” Annie replies easily, rolling over to scoot to the edge of Beth’s bed. “You’re about to get railed on camera by a total dick’s huge-ass-dick.”

And, well.

Beth rolls her eyes.

“You practiced that one,” she tells her knowingly, and Annie laughs, watching as Beth finishes packing her bag for the day. She didn’t need to bring much really. Gretchen had mostly told her just to bring a couple of changes of clothes – so that she had options, maybe something to do between takes – a book, knitting, a puzzle. Maybe something to keep her in the mood too, like a vibrator, which had Beth turning about eight different shades of red.

The blush must find her cheeks again now, because Annie shuffles closer, dropping her hand to her wrist.

“I know you talked to Ruby about this the other day, but like - - you know it’s never too late to back out, right?”

Beth looks at her, swallows, and it’s strange. After all, it’s not like there isn’t still a part of her screaming _what are you doing?_ but something about it all had felt right yesterday during the clothed-rehearsals. _She’d_ felt right – embarrassed, sure, but also like - - like maybe her ideas were being listened to, and that she could be _good_ at it, and it was funny. Rio’s words at the bar probably should’ve reminded her she was being insane, and they did for a little while. Did on that ride home, did as she lay in her bed, fuming with anger, burning up with humiliation, but then something inside her had snapped, and suddenly all she’d felt was _more_ certain.

Rio, Dean, Noah.

None of them knew her, and they kept trying to make decisions for her like she couldn’t, like she was a child or a _what_ instead of a _who_ , and maybe this would all be a disaster, but it would be _her_ disaster. One she’d already half been paid for.

One that was going to help her to save her children, her home, _herself_.

“I think I need to do this,” she says quietly, staring down at her sports bag, then she huffs laughing to herself. “I mean, I _know_ I need to do this if I want to keep this house, but I also. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

When she finally looks up at Annie again, her sister is just sort of smiling at her, a little sadly, but mostly happily, her hand tightening on hers, and Beth feels somehow buoyed by her, calmer. She clutches at Annie’s hand in return, feels the warmth of it, the firmness, and knows that no matter how much of a disaster it might be, at least she’ll always have Annie and Ruby.

“Well,” Annie says, resting back onto the bed, her voice steady. “Then I guess there’s only one thing left to talk about.”

Beth arches an eyebrow in question, slipping the hoodie into her sports bag as Annie hums on the bed, looking way too smug, and Beth really should just leave it, but she can’t quite stop herself from asking it:

“And that is?”

Annie grins, grabbing Beth’s hand again and throwing up their arms in triumph.

“How you’re going to ride that dick’s dick to victory!”

With a groan, Beth breaks their grip, rolling her eyes at her sister.

“You need a brain transplant,” she tells her, and Annie cackles, heaving off the bed and helping Beth finish getting ready.

*

By the time she pulls up at the studio, parks, gets inside, the place is alive with energy. Craft services setting up breakfast, crew moving props, adjusting lighting, the cameramen fiddling with lenses. All she can smell is bad coffee, cheap markers, stretched gaffer tape tugging to stick down wires.

She takes a breath and steps awkwardly into the back of the soundstage, her sports bag weighing down her shoulder as she drinks it all in, and she’s barely had time to really process any of it when a familiar voice calls her name out across the lot.

“Beth!”

Dressed in a perfectly tailored chambray suit, a white t-shirt underneath, Gretchen strides across the lot towards her, moving effortlessly around the crew as she does it. It’s almost unfair, Beth thinks, to look that good, her eyes darting down to take in Gretchen’s sleek, chic look, and then thinking of herself, in dark-washed jeans and her favourite floral sweater and, well. It’s not like she’ll be wearing it for long, Beth reminds herself, flushing a little, but still feeling herself grin when Gretchen smiles at her, only - -

Beth blinks.

There’s almost an edge to Gretchen’s smile. Not anything rude or sharp, nor anything cruel, in fact, it’s almost the opposite – it’s almost maybe relieved, but - - why on earth would she be _relieved_?

“You need a coffee?” Gretchen asks, cutting through Beth’s thoughts, and when Beth shakes her head, Gretchen reaches out, grabbing her bag off her shoulder and passing it to a runner who seems to have materialised out of nowhere. Jerking her head sideways, Gretchen gestures for Beth to follow her, and Beth promptly does. “We’re keen to hit the ground running, so we’re going to get you into wardrobe first, just to finalise any adjustments, then through to hair and make-up, and then we’ll get you onto set. Our marketing team will do a couple of little interviews for socials – just the ones we talked about – and then we’ll be kicking off. The first takes will be no pressure. We _will_ be filming, but we’re also, you know, all figuring it out. It’ll mostly be broad shots, with a few exceptions, so. Relax. Think of it like a recorded rehearsal - -”

“Or an undressed rehearsal,” Beth interrupts, laughing a little because – god, she doesn’t know. This just suddenly feels very real. She sucks in a breath, smoothing her hand down her waist, trying to stimmy the butterflies which have suddenly erupted in her belly as she watches a group of crew members chatter, wandering towards craft services. Before she can stop herself, her eyes dart, and it takes a minute for her head to catch up, for her to realise she’s searching for any glimpse of him – tattoos, black jeans, swagger, which - - god. Embarrassing. She sucks in a breath, forcing herself to refocus on Gretchen.

“Good one,” she says, although she doesn’t laugh, and Beth gets the distinct impression she might’ve heard the joke before. “There will be a photographer for that part too, who’ll just be getting a few shots for promo. After that, we’ll probably break for lunch, and then be diving in for the more um – _focused_ – takes. That sound good to you?”

And honestly, Beth doesn’t really have the first clue as to whether that sounds good or not, picking up her pace to try and meet Gretchen’s long stride as they pivot off the soundstage and start down the hallway. Ahead of her, she can see the runner with her sports bag disappear behind a closed door, and Gretchen gestures, says something about a dressing room, before pausing with Beth instead in front of another.

Rapping her knuckles against the thick wood of the door, the thing promptly springs open, and they’re met with a mass of fabric, mannequins, roller racks of lingerie and the distinct smell of fabric softener oozing out towards them. From amidst the sea of it all, two heads bob like ships, and Gretchen grins widely at Beth, then back at the heads.

She claps her hands together.

“Get her ready, girls. We’re making a movie.”

*

Beth yelps when she feels a prick at the upper swell of her breast, only to flush in embarrassment when Dorothy looks up at her apologetically, her thin lips pressed around a mouthful of pins. She mumbles something unintelligibly, and it’s all it takes for Lucy to speak up from the stool behind her.

“She says she’s sorry,” Lucy translates, her own gaze fixed on the expanse of black and red fabric in front of her own little sewing station.

To say that Dorothy and Lucy hadn’t been what Beth had expected was probably about as big of an understatement as she could ever say. Not that she’d been entirely sure what to expect – but the moment she’d had her first fitting with them a week ago, she’d been lost for words. As a team, they were almost impeccable, well-oiled, able to communicate with a wave of the hand or a bat of an eyelash, but they also had a distinct _Harold and Maude_ sort of vibe that Beth couldn’t make heads or tails of.

Dorothy had to be close to 70, with a deceptively firm grip, a dressmaker’s functionality and a sort of energy that Beth could only hope to have _now_ , let alone in thirty years, and while she steered the ship of the wardrobe team, it was Lucy who seemed to function as the artistic eye of it. It had been Lucy after all – who couldn’t have been much older than Annie – who’d rummaged through lingerie catalogues and siphoned off scraps of lace, who’d draped flimsy fabrics over Beth’s body and apologised a million times over every time she pulled something a little too tight or snapped a suspender strap in her effort to find the perfect look for Noah and Max’s vision.

Now though it was Dorothy who ensured the perfect _fit_ , laying a final stitch into Beth’s bra so it held her breasts up practically to her chin, spitting out the last of the pins, and adding:

“Old hands,” in further apology for the accidental needle-stab, before looking back at Lucy behind her: “Whaddya think, hon?”

The words are enough to make Lucy spring to her feet, draping whatever it was that she was working on back onto the chair and loping over to Beth. She pushes her glasses up her nose, puffs out her cheeks, squinting as she takes in Beth’s outfit, and, well. Beth holds out her hands, a little embarrassed, a little amused by Lucy’s overall intensity.

The outfit is - - well.

_Something_ , that’s for sure.

But still, Beth thinks, glancing behind herself to catch her reflection in the mirror. It’s not without a certain delicateness.

Despite Noah’s initial insistence that the thing be purple for some reason, or black – apparently a porn staple – Lucy had talked them all around to white and a rich, midnight blue. A palette that had culminated in delicate lace panties and a matching bra, the latter of which would be close to a sheer blue if not for the white lace flowers stitched delicately into the mesh. The blue, Lucy insisted, brought out her eyes, while the white was barely a shade paler than her skin, having the effect of making it almost look like the bra and panties were stitching themselves into her.

(“It’ll look good,” Lucy had insisted, Noah throwing his hands up in the air, exasperated. “When Rio gets his hands under it, it’ll look like he’s - - you know - - getting under her skin.”

“Poetic,” Noah had replied, unimpressed, his hands on his hips as he looked across the swatches. He’d been sure though to look back up at Beth before he practically sneered at Lucy: “Maybe that gets you off, but we’re looking for a broader appeal.”

Still, Gretchen had overruled him.)

Over the top of the lingerie, she’s wearing a floaty midnight blue negligee that stops just above the curve of her ass, leaving nothing to the imagination, and on top of that a satin floral robe that Beth’s already hoping she might be able to take home in a pinch.

(“She looks like a nun,” Noah had snapped again at Gretchen at their first proper fitting, in what Beth had discovered to be a character-typical dickishness. In the moment though, she’d just sort of stared at him, because - - nun? Really?

Lucy though had only shrugged.

“Rio likes undressing women,” she’d said simply – like she _knew_ him, and the reality of that made Beth stare and Gretchen, once again, immediately agree.)

Now though, Lucy hums, her forehead furrowing in thought, before glancing up at Beth.

“How do you feel in it?”

The question comes as such a surprise that Beth can’t help the look crossing her face. She blinks, her mouth falling open before she can stop herself, and at Lucy’s gesture, Beth turns to face herself in the mirror. Biting the inside of her cheek, she looks at the way the fluorescents of the dressing room light washes out her skin, the way the negligee catches on the small pockets of baby weight she hasn’t been able to lose, but also - -

Also the way Lucy had decided to go without stockings, and now the length of Beth’s pale legs beneath the midnight blue robe look like something luminous and long, even to her. To the way the negligee falls about her like a dream, hugging her breasts, her narrow waist, and fanning about her wider hips in a way that feels like a whispered compliment. The way the white lace, just like Lucy had promised, looks practically, elegantly stitched into her skin.

She feels silly, but she also - - god.

She also feels _good_.

Swallowing a little thickly, Beth shifts her weight.

“The bra’s a little small,” she tries, and before she can stop herself, her hands skim up her body, prod at where her breasts bulge over the lace of her bra, and Dorothy snorts on a laugh at the same time that Lucy just sort of smiles, wrinkling her nose.

“That’s kinda the way they like it,” she confesses, and Beth glances back at her, smiles.

“Well, then I guess I feel nice in it,” she says, and Lucy practically beams back at her, scurrying forwards to fiddle a little with the hem of the negligee, her hand innocently, accidentally, brushing Beth’s ass in the process.

“Sorry!” she gushes quickly to Beth, flushing to the roots of her hair, and before Beth can even tell her that it’s nothing at all, Lucy clears her throat and turns back to Dorothy. “I think we might bring this up a little more? Half an inch? Then I think we’re good.”

Dorothy nods, and Beth watches in the mirror as Dorothy swivels back in on her stool, grabbing her collection of pins, and gets to work on the bottom of Beth’s negligee. Tuning out the tug of Dorothy’s careful work, Beth instead takes in the room again, her gaze drifting over the roller racks of clothes – her lingerie, then what must be her husband’s in the film, then - - her breath stutters. What could only be Rio’s outfit.

Quickly, she flicks her gaze back to Lucy, who wanders back to her own little station, willing away her blush as she drops back into her chair and grabs a hold of the mass of black and red fabric again, turning it over in her lap. Beth watches her carefully close a seam, tinker with the neck, and it’s almost hypnotic, or, at least, it is before she catches a glimpse of the chest of the thing, and feels herself jerked from any calm reverie.

“Is that Spiderman?”

The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them, and it’s enough to throw Lucy’s head up, and Dorothy’s too. Beth flushes, standing up a little straighter, taller, gesturing towards the costume in Lucy’s hands.

“Sorry, I mean - - is that a Spiderman costume?”

And it’s strange, the normalcy of it. The reality of it, because she knows Spiderman – she has four kids and her ex was _Dean_ – she knows more about comic book heroes than she ever wanted to, and to somehow feel that world in this one feels - -

Well.

She’s not sure how it feels.

Still, with a grin, Lucy nods, shaking out the thing and holding it up, the black body of it stark against the red fingers; the familiar red spider, artfully done in a graffiti style, sitting in the middle of the black webbed chest. It’s unmistakably a child’s costume, maybe for a seven or an eight-year-old, and just like that, even without context, without rhyme or reason, something in Beth unlocks.

“I thought that spider boy was blue and red?” Dorothy asks from her feet, and before Lucy can say anything, the correction is already pouring out of Beth’s mouth.

“Not Peter, Miles. Different Spiderman,” Beth tells her, and at Lucy’s surprised look, Beth shrugs, wrinkling her nose and grinning. “Into the Spiderverse, right? All my kids are basically obsessed with it. I’m pretty sure I could quote that whole movie back to you right now.”

The comment seems to surprise Lucy, who laughs in a sort of bodily way, leaning over the costume. She fiddles a little, almost nervously, over the fabric in her lap, before looking back up at Beth, blushing shyly.

“I’m not really into all of that stuff,” she confesses. “I’m just making it for - - ”

With a neat _whoosh_ , the door opens, and a long, drawled _hey_ echoes through the room. All three of their heads dart up to see a woman in the doorway, her hip pushed into the doorframe. She’s a flick of pink glitter eyeshadow and a toss of thick brown hair, and Beth takes her in as Dorothy moves to finish pinning up the negligee, as quick as she can.

“Hi, Krystal,” Lucy says, voice too loud, promptly averting her gaze, and if she was a little shy with Beth, it ten-folds with Krystal, who smiles affectionately at her in return.

“Hi, peach, Beth here ready for make-up?”

With Lucy’s rapid nod, Dorothy gestures for Beth to change, telling her she’ll sew the hem while she gets fixed up, and right, Beth thinks, slipping out of the costume and back into her jeans.

Back into _her_ again.

*

“You know, you’ve got _really_ nice hair.”

Beth opens her eyes to see Krystal smiling down at her, a warm look on her face as she finishes massaging the hair mask into her roots.

The hair and make-up room within the studio is so different from the wardrobe one. Gone are the rolls of fabric, the sewing station, the wall of photographs of the shoot’s clothes and the elaborate kits of fabric, and instead is just a small salon-style sink for hair washing, an array of hair dryers, straighteners, curlers, and a bench sprawled with a paintbox of make-up – glitzy eyeshadows and tubes of mascara, foundations, contouring palettes, about a hundred lip sticks and glosses, and Beth would be lying if she said she didn’t want to try out most of them.

“Thank you,” Beth says, unable to contain her own grin when Krystal’s widens kindly. “I’d love to take credit for it, but with four kids I don’t really get to look after it as much as I want to.”

“ _Four_?”

And it’s Mindy who asks it – the make-up artist. She’s as glamorous as Krystal, even in just a pair of jeans and a cropped Lakers tank, her dark hair relaxed and thrown back over her shoulder. Before Beth gets the chance to reply, Krystal’s wheeling her chair back down towards Mindy, the other woman mixing make-up primer into a small dish with a brush.

“I can seriously like, not even imagine _one_ ,” Krystal says above her, out of sight now, even as she starts to play with Beth’s wet, marinating-in-the-mask hair, and Beth leans back into her touch before she can help herself. She’s just - - _really_ good with her hands.

“It’s hard work, huh, babe?” Mindy says, and before Beth can even nod, Mindy’s holding her chin firm, dotting primer over her cheeks, forehead, nose. “I’ve got two, and I’m basically a temper tantrum away from getting my tubes tied.”

Which - -

God.

Beth laughs, wrinkling her nose, because that feeling is just _way_ too familiar. She’d even tried it once, the memory finding her quickly, suddenly – the appointment, the doctor staring, judging, the price, and then Dean, petulant in his reluctance, implying it might somehow make her less of a woman and then - -

Well.

Then they’d had Jane.

She shifts in her seat, something tightening in her chest. She swallows thickly, glancing up at them, and she doesn’t even know these people, but there’s something therapeutic in even the most off-hand implication, the basest offering, and so before she can stop herself, she presents it.

“I’ve thought about it,” she says, and there’s no horror like there would be with the PTA moms, no jokes like there’d be with Annie, just Mindy nodding, smiling in her commiseration. Her camaraderie. Something in Beth emboldens. She grins, smoothing out her expression, adopting a self-deprecating tone. “But I’ve literally only _just_ gotten divorced, so. Not like there are many chances for that right now.”

And, well. That doesn’t settle quite as well.

The words sink like a stone in the room, something only felt all the more by the way Krystal’s hands pause in Beth’s hair, and Mindy’s with the make-up brush against her cheek. They flick a look at each other, before Mindy sits back, briefly sucks on her cheek, before levelling Beth with a look.

“You _do_ know where you are, right?”

And Beth blinks up at them, and just - - right. Before she can stop herself, she rocks forwards a little, flushing as a bubble of laughter escapes her throat, something that only serves to make Mindy and Krystal laugh too.

“I’m sorry,” Beth says, raising a hand to rub at her forehead only for Mindy to smack it away to stop her dragging her fingers through her primer. “I do, I - - this is my first time doing this.”

“We kinda got that vibe, babe,” Krystal says over her shoulder. “You do _not_ have to worry, they’ll hook you up with the morning after pill the second we wrap, and if they don’t, you come and you find your Aunt Mindy and your Aunt Krystal, and _we_ will.”

“Yeah, coz you know Rio doesn’t _wrap_.”

Mindy drops it quickly, somehow both loaded and off-hand, and Krystal cackles, which only serves to make Beth blink, and - - and - -

She wets her lips, something in her chest tightening again, and before she knows it, she finds herself rifling through the memories of Rio’s movies in her head. Has he _ever_ worn a condom in these things? Has he ever even pulled out? Well – okay, yes, but only to come somewhere else, and usually just after or just before another round where he came - - y’know, _inside_.

Beth flushes, shakes her head, and they _did_ this, they talked about STIs, and hell, it was why Gretchen had ensured she’d been checked herself, but that’s not pregnancy, and - -

Dabbing the make-up brush into the foundation blend, Mindy makes quick work starting to spread it on Beth’s skin, the sudden smoothing of the brush tearing her out of her own head and right, Beth thinks, grounding herself.

Morning after pill.

She should text Ruby. Ask her to pick one up. That would be practical.

Logical.

Smart.

“Speaking of, wasn’t he supposed to be here already?”

The words are enough for Beth to dart her gaze up to Mindy – despite the words having come from Krystal behind her – who only shakes her head back at Beth, wielding a make-up brush in her general direction.

“You gotta close your eyes, babe.”

And – right. Beth does, trying not to twitch with energy when Mindy keeps blending foundation into her skin.

“Yeah, his call was like, two hours ago. He was supposed to meet with Gretchen, but you know what he’s like.”

“Yeah _now_ , but you know he wasn’t always like this.”

“It’s the ego,” Mindy says knowingly, and god, Beth hopes her eavesdropping isn’t too blatant. “Fame does this shit, babe, I’ve told you before. It’s exactly what happened to Jimmy Turner. He got too big, then he _felt_ too big.”

Krystal hums, still massaging her hands through Beth’s hair.

“I’m not arguing with you or whatever, but like. Jimmy feels like a special case.”

Mindy makes a noise of agreement, her brush strokes getting a little rougher as she blends the make-up into Beth’s jawline, hairline.

“And with Rio, I don’t know if it’s that exactly? Like, you know the last time I worked with him it was for that - - what was it? They were supposed to be like neighbours or something? The one with Mercedes?”

Mindy hums in acknowledgement, her face so close to Beth’s she can smell her bubblegum-sweet perfume. Her hand moves steadily, finishing off her layer of foundation before grabbing the spot concealer, dabbing it to cover the tired bags beneath Beth’s eyes too.

“Anyway, I came through for touch-ups and she was this close - -” Krystal gestures enough over Beth’s head that even she can see the inch given in her offered fingers. “To tears. Said he was just not into it and she could tell, y’know? Kept saying she must’ve done something, because they’d never had any problems before, but he wouldn’t talk to her.”

Mindy hums again, grabbing some blush and an eyebrow pencil. She applies it quickly, before reaching for the eyeshadow, the eyeliner, the mascara.

“Close your eyes again, babe,” she says, and Beth does, before the other woman directs her attention back to Krystal. “You know that’s the last movie he did, right?”

And right, Beth thinks – thinks she can remember Annie or Ruby saying that all those weeks ago, about that last movie of his, but then Krystal brushes her hair a little rougher and Mindy has finished with the eyeshadow and is painting a line of liquid eyeliner instead, and Beth’s briefly disorientated.

“Nooo,” Krystal says, her voice loud across the Top 40 hits playing on the Bluetooth speaker. “He did that one where he was at a garden center or whatever.”

“Shoot was cancelled at the last minute,” Mindy replies. “Dreama was supposed to be working on it. She told me like - - everything was going super well, and they’d finished the rehearsals and the blocking and she’d done the costume fittings and everything, but then day of the pre-shoot-rehearsal - - the girl just didn’t show up. She thinks Rio had something to do with it. You can open your eyes now, babe.”

Beth blinks, watching as Mindy moves away and finally seeing her reflection in the mirror and - - it’s _nice_ , Beth thinks. Not loud or over the top like maybe she was thinking (it _is_ porn, after all). A smooth cat eye with a red lip, and she sits up a little straighter, checking herself out, trying to hide the fact that she’s really just blatantly eavesdropping at this point. Then again, could this be considered eavesdropping? They _are_ loudly discussing it in front of her, and she was a part of the conversation when it started.

“But why would he - -” Mindy starts, when suddenly the backdoor breaks open and Rio saunters through, tossing his bomber jacket on the chair in the corner, tugging off his beanie and flopping heavily down into the chair beside Beth.

“Ladies,” he drawls, and Beth stares pointedly at her reflection, something sparking in her in a way that makes her toes curl. She sits up a little straighter, tilting her chin up and god, she just wants to look at him, just wants to look him _right_ in the eye and tell him he doesn’t scare her, but she also can’t think of anything more embarrassing than doing that in front of two perfect strangers, so she holds her tongue when Mindy wanders around again, patting his shoulder and kissing his cheek.

“Long time no see, stranger,” she says, and Rio grins at her in a way that makes Mindy smirk, that implies just - - _history,_ and - - right, Beth really needs to not be looking at him. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and then we can get started. You want one?”

He hums out a negatory, and with that, Mindy disappears out the door, only to have Krystal yell behind her:

“Mindy! Can you get me some more sea salt spray from the car? Mindy!”

When Mindy doesn’t reply, Krystal groans, huffing out a breath and dropping the hairbrush back to the bench.

“Sorry, babe,” she tells her. “I’ll be two minutes.”

Before Beth can so much as cling to her arm and think of an excuse to keep her here, Krystal’s out the door too, and Beth shifts back in her seat, swallowing thickly, keeping her gaze focused on her reflection in the mirror and her still damp hair, until she just - - okay, maybe _one_ look wouldn’t hurt - - and - -

Okay, it did, Beth thinks, turning to see him staring at her, lips curled in amusement.

She scowls at him, turning back towards the mirror and huffing out a breath.

Opening her mouth to tell him - - _something_ , what, she has no idea, Rio suddenly cuts her off.

“Didn’t think you were gonna show,” he drawls, and Beth scoffs, shifting back in her seat.

“You thinking _anything_ about me is laughable,” she says, tilting up her chin. “Since despite what you seem to think, _you don’t know me_.”

He rocks his head briefly from side-to-side, as if turning the thought over in his head, his gaze drifting down her body, and she hates it – hates that she can feel it, hates that she’s spent the last few weeks fantasising about feeling him, about his - -

“About to know you real well,” he tells her, mocking, his eyes lingering on her breasts. “Heard the club’s pretty exclusive.”

Beth’s breath hitches, her scowl deepening even as a flush bursts across her cheeks, and she refuses to give him the satisfaction of wavering. She spins around in her seat, rocking her jaw, and she thinks of Lucy’s familiarity, and then Mindy’s, about Annie and Ruby and _Stan_ all getting off to him, and something in her snaps hot.

“Can’t say the same for you,” she replies snidely. “It seems like they pass memberships for that out here with the free parking.”

It’s enough that Rio just smiles at her, all teeth, even as his hips rock forwards in his seat, his fingers twitch at the arm of his chair.

“Right, right,” he says, nodding. “You tell that ex of yours yet all he about to see? Or you playin’ like this gonna just be between you and me?”

At least they’re words she’s prepared for after last night, she thinks, sitting up straighter, something hot sparking in her, because god, where does he get off? Telling her what she can and can’t do? She opens her mouth to tell him exactly what she thinks of that, but he cuts her off before she gets the chance.

“Hell, ain’t just that ex of yours. Whole fuckin’ world’s gonna see this,” he tells her. He tilts his head sideways towards the door, widening his eyes innocently at her, and Beth’s lips part, her gaze following his. “You think you walk outta this buildin’ the same as when you walked in? Think you go back to drivin’ carpool and playin’ dance mom? President of the PTA and whatnot? Nah, you’ll be the pornstar at pick-up, and if you ain’t realised that yet, you’re about to.”

Her gaze snaps furiously back to him, and there must be a look on her face, something torn open or too honest, her mask having slipped, because his grin sprawls into something sharkish, like he smells blood in the water, and god - - she shakes her head because she _knew_ but maybe - - maybe she hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. Hadn’t thought about what might happen when the dads or – worse, the _moms_ at school see, what they might say, what their children might to _hers_. Her fingers tremble a little, just a touch, and she digs them into her sides so that he doesn’t see, but she gets the feeling he’s seen anyway, because he’s opening his mouth to speak again, to dig the knife deeper and - -

“Okay, we have _acquired_ the sea salt spray!” Krystal says triumphantly, brandishing the spray in delight as she bounds back into the room, and Beth tears her gaze away from Rio, staring at her reflection, trying to ignore the easy, charming tenor of his voice beside her as he starts to talk to Krystal.

*

Beth slams into the bathroom, kicking the door closed behind her, and hurrying over to the sink. It takes almost too much effort not to splash water on her face, to not ruin Mindy and Krystal’s hard work. Almost as much as it had taken to not squirm out of her chair in that room beside Rio as Mindy smoothed out his skin and covered up his barely-there blemishes with perfectly-blended foundation, and Krystal finished styling her hair.

Now, Beth sucks in a breath, her fingers twitching with nerves, because god, he’s _right_.

What is she _doing?_

She’s been so naïve, so tunnel visioned, so focused, and now, to be _here_? On set? About to be decked out in some barely-there lingerie, her hair big, her body tightly wound, him beside her – rude and callous and mocking and her eyes just - -

They suddenly feel wide open.

The air conditioning nips at the back of her neck, the sound of the crew bumping in equipment and testing lighting with the stand-ins carrying down the hallway. Vaguely, she thinks she can hear Lucy ask after her, can hear Mindy laugh a little flirtatiously with Rio, can hear the thrum of the highway not too far from here, and she should leave.

That’s what she should do, she thinks, fumbling in the back pocket of her jeans for her cell phone. She pulls it out, bringing up Annie’s contact then – no – not while Annie’s looking after the kids. Ruby, she decides, but then - -

They’ve already talked to her about this, and Beth had felt so certain before, had known what it was she needed to do.

If she does this, she can start her business, if she does this she can save her house and protect her family, and Rio’s right. She’s not going to leave this building the same. She’s going to leave it _better_ , and in control of her life, of her future, of her children’s future, and if that isn’t what matters, she doesn’t know what is.

Pick-up line be damned.

She straightens herself up, looks at herself again in the mirror, wills her shaking hands to still.

She’s got this.

She _has_.

And - -

“Beth?”

The sound of her name cuts through the quiet of the bathroom, the cacophony of her thoughts; and Beth spins on the spot to find Lucy in the doorway of the bathroom, her black hair shiny and stark against the dull white bathroom walls.

“Hi! Sorry to like - - to interrupt your - -” she gestures over at Beth, grins a little to herself, self-deprecating. “We just finished the hem on your outfit so, um, do you wanna come and we can get you dressed? Your hair and stuff looks really pretty by the way.”

Beth blinks, looks at herself briefly again in the mirror, her wide-eyed reflection staring back, and Beth feels it – the wobbly certainty hardening in her. She turns back to Lucy, smiling wide, tossing up her hands:

“Lead the way!”

*

Dorothy’s fingers pinch the shoulders of the robe, draping it a little sideways, ensuring it reveals the pale line of Beth’s clavicle, before she steps back, considering.

“Y’know, I think our friend Lucy over there has outdone herself on this one,” she says warmly, and Beth aims for something close to a smile as the older woman steps back, rolling up her sewing kit, and pushing it back onto the bench. “Do you know when they want you on set?”

Beth blinks, her gaze flicking up to the clock hanging above the doorway of the costume room, checking the time. She swallows thickly, wets her lips.

“Oh! Um, in twenty minutes or so, I think? We’re doing like, these interviews first?”

Dorothy hums, like she gets it, walking over to the clothing rack in the corner of the room. There’s another couple of lingerie sets, negligees, robes in case the ones Beth’s already in get stained or torn or damaged, but behind hers – separated by a neon plastic divider – are three matching sets of black jeans, three black t-shirts, three, identical black bomber jackets with gold-toothed zips.

It wouldn’t be all that unexpected, all that weird, if it wasn’t for the fact that behind them all now hangs the small Spiderman costume, practically finished at this point, except for apparently the feet, which Lucy works over carefully with a needle and thread.

Beth blinks at it, then back to Rio’s clothes which Dorothy is starting to collect off the rack, her eyes catching on the bomber jacket, and she just - - can’t help herself.

“Those barely look any different from what he wears off set,” she says, and both Dorothy and Lucy look back at her.

“Yeah, he’s kind of got like, this sort of aesthetic?” Lucy supplies easily, wrinkling her nose a little as she fiddles with the foot of the Spiderman costume. Her words are enough to make Dorothy laugh, for her to shake her head.

“What did Gretchen call it in that meeting? A _brand_?”

In turn, it makes Lucy laugh, an inside joke between them that leaves them levelling each other with fun, funny looks and makes Beth shift her weight, step forwards, away from the mirror. She ends up sitting herself on the bench in the corner of the room, watching while Lucy and Dorothy continue to work.

“Anyone who wins that many AVN Awards is going to get one,” Lucy adds in the end. She glances back at Beth, like she’s suddenly aware of her again. She shoots her an apologetic look, then explains: “They’re the Adult Video News Awards. They’re kind of a big deal.”

Beth feigns ignorance.

“He’s won some?”

“Oh, honey, he’s won a _lot_ ,” Dorothy says. “Every year since he broke out - - what? Six? Seven years ago. What was that one?”

“Pool Boys Fuck 4,” Lucy says with a laugh, and Beth blinks, feels a heat rise up her chest, her thighs clenching, because okay - - okay, so she’s seen that one.

She swallows, shakes her hair back, is thinking of saying something, anything, when Dorothy interjects:

“You worked with him on that, didn’t you?”

Beth swivels promptly in her seat on the bench, turning towards Lucy in time to see the other woman nod.

“Yeah, it was fun. It was his first one with Dylan. He was the new pool boy; she was home from college. He boned her _and_ her mom. I mean, the actress playing her mom, not her - - . Mona Robinson. She was playing Dylan’s mom.”

Vaguely, Beth can remember her. A pretty woman probably about the age Beth was now, with a figure to die for and a smile that could light up the screen. Rio had looked good with Dylan (always looked good with Dylan), but there was something about him and Mona that had worked. They’d - -

_Fit_ together.

More than that, there’d been an energy between them that had felt _real_.

It had felt - -

_Good_ , Beth thinks, biting the inside of her lip.

“Jeez, Mona. Whatever happened to her?”

“You’re looking at it,” Lucy hums happily, tilting her head back at Beth, who blinks in surprise, sitting up a little taller. Dorothy turns around, stares, which makes sense because – well, Beth is _white_ for starters, and Lucy just laughs, flailing out a hand.

“I mean she quit and started a lingerie business,” Lucy says. “She designed the set Beth is wearing.”

Both Beth and Dorothy stop at that, Dorothy reappraising Beth’s look, and Beth just - - before she can stop herself, she turns back towards the mirror behind the bench, reappraising herself too. She takes in the delicate lace, the blue mesh, the _sexiness_ of it all again, and huh, she thinks, sitting up a little taller.

Mona did this.

She turned this whole experience into something beautiful, let it make her _make something,_ and god, isn’t that what Beth wants to do too?

“Well, good for her,” Dorothy says, almost a little proud, pulling Beth from her own appraisal, and she looks back between them, seeing both Dorothy and Lucy’s affection at Mona’s success, and something strange and warm uncurls in her chest.

But then - -

But then her eyes catch again on the costume Dorothy’s preparing for Rio, and - -

Well.

“Have you worked with Rio a lot?”

It’s not that she wants to pry exactly – she’s never been a gossip, nor even particularly competitive (she’s been on the losing team too long for that) – but there’s something in him that presents like one of the books she used to pick up at the flea markets as a girl, some dog-eared mysteries she’d write in the margins of, untangling in her head, censoring in her own mouth to tell as bedtime stories to Annie in their youth.

“I don’t know about a lot, but a bit,” Lucy tells her, unbothered by the probe, and Beth blinks, tugged once again from her memories. “I pretty much work with everyone at Thank You Ma’am though.”

The mere memory of Annie reminds Beth of what she’d told her weeks ago, what Mindy and Krystal had only just confirmed.

“He’s slowed down though, right?”

The words are enough to make Lucy look back at her, considering. She fiddles a little with the toe of the Spiderman costume, before she says:

“Yeah, kind of.”

“That young man wants to make like Mona Robinson.”

The words come from Dorothy, and they’re enough to make Beth blink, her mind reeling, still trying to catch up.

“And start a lingerie line?”

Lucy and Dorothy’s laughter swells through the room, rapid and warm, and even though Beth’s still mostly confused, she laughs along with them.

“No, honey, he wants to quit.” Dorothy tells her. She folds his jeans in a neat little pile before offering Beth a shrug. “Happens to the best of them.”

Which - - does it?

She wets her lips, thinking about his videos, thinking about him at her audition with Gretchen, in their meetings, at the bar – just now, in the hair and make-up room. He’d oozed effortless confidence, entitlement, like nothing was up to his standard, like anything he _did_ choose was graced with his presence, his touch, not the other way around. Beth frowns, glancing back at Dorothy and Lucy.

“Then why does he stick around at all? He’s made so many videos, he can’t still need the money.”

“He’s under contract,” Dorothy replies, dropping the pile of clothes to the bench before grabbing a pair of boots for him too, socks balled up in the opening of them. “He signed with Thank You Ma’am for five years after that first win at the AVN’s, then for another five, and - - what’s he up to now?”

“He’s only two years into the new contract,” Lucy says, finally peeling up and away from the child’s costume. She goes to drop her sewing kit to the bench before her gaze latches onto Beth and she lopes over to her instead. Beth jumps when Lucy’s hands promptly open up her robe to fiddle with the bust of her negligee.

“He only made the one film last year though,” Dorothy adds. “That was unusual.”

“Definitely unusual,” Lucy says, gesturing for Beth to stand up again. “But it’s just because he figured out a loophole.

“A loophole?”

“Yup, Gretchen’s assistant told me. He’s only contracted to make four films a year, and if he _signs on_ for those four projects, and they get the greenlight and make it to pre-production, but they don’t go ahead for whatever reason, _technically_ it still counts as one for him.”

Staring at her hands, it takes almost all of Beth’s willpower to not jerk her head up at the same time that Dorothy’s does – a feat especially hard given Lucy’s barely a hair’s breadth away. Beth swallows instead, letting Lucy work over the lace at her bust.

“No shit.”

“Mmhmm,” Lucy replies to Dorothy. “I don’t know if you heard, but Clementine Buck quit the last project

“Clementine?” Dorothy asks, voice thick with surprise. “Really?”

“Yup. Rumour has it that Rio talked her out of - - ”

“You ladies talkin’ about me?”

A pin drops, or, well, not a pin, Beth thinks – glancing up in time to see Rio stride easily into the room, a lazy grin on his face – a _Rio_. And maybe it’s odd, but it’s oddly relieving too to look at him now, made-up under Mindy and Krystal’s care, and see less him and more - - well. _Him_.

Rio the Star. His beard freshly shaved down to the basest of stubble, his hair cropped, his blemishes smoothed. He looks like the man she’s watched, not the one she’s met, and the thought shifts inside her, offering both comfort and a sort of active, prodding _dis_ comfort too.

She looks away from him, ignoring the heat his gaze drags down her body, his eyes dropping to the dipped neckline of the negligee and the upwards push of her breasts; the way he briefly, pointedly, sucks on his bottom lip.

“Hi!” Lucy pops happily, and Beth’s head jerks back to her, and then to Rio when he just sort of smirks over at them, says:

“What you got for me, champ?”

The words are enough to make Lucy grin, and she gestures over to Dorothy, her hands still fiddling with Beth’s negligee adjustments as Rio steps through the room towards the older woman.

Dorothy takes him through it, quietly outlining the layers, and god, Beth wishes she could _not_ watch him do it. Could ignore the dip of his shaved head over the line of the clothes offered, could ignore the smell of him – something warm and clean, cedarwood and soap, could ignore his words, dismissals, compliments and criticisms. She shifts her weight only for her eyes to bulge when Rio strips down, not even bothering to dip behind the screen in the corner of the room.

It doesn’t seem to bother either Dorothy or Lucy though, the latter of whom finishes adjusting Beth’s costume before ducking excitedly back to the roller rack, and Beth watches her (any excuse, really, to not watch _him_ ) only to blink in surprise when Lucy pulls out the Spiderman costume.

Behind them, Rio’s dressed now, Dorothy toying with the fit of his pants when Lucy practically bounds across the room, presenting the costume to Rio, and it’s just like that, the energy shifts, and Rio - -

Rio _smiles_.

“Dope.”

He says it in a way Beth has never heard him sound, not in the movies, not since she’s known him. His voice stripped of any antagonism or attitude, smugness or smoulder. He just sounds - - _happy_.

Lucy giggles, the sound erupting from her, her fingers entwining at her waist, almost supporting her as she lolls forwards. She fiddles a little, looking up at Rio warmly, but not so shy, not so flushed, as she had with Beth and Krystal.

“You think he’ll like it?”

Rio grins, clutching at the costume now, and it’s different, _he’s_ different, and Beth just - - _stares_.

“Nuh, I think he’s gonna lose his shit.”

And it’s Dorothy who claps her hands together, delighted, and Lucy who immediately starts chattering about the detail and the seamwork and the care instructions, and Beth just watches. Watches them chatter, gush, joke, and she stares at the costume, breath unsteady, because he’d told her last night at the bar that he had a kid, she _knew_ that, but she hadn’t thought about it until right now. She hadn’t thought - -

Hadn’t thought Lucy’s costume was for his son.

And god, he’s got to be Jane or Emma’s age, Beth thinks, staring at the size of it, little still, but not a baby. A tiny human, with a personality and wants, and - - and in _school_ , with a daddy who - -

Beth looks back at Rio, the totality of the day collapsing through her head, domino after domino after domino, and she sucks in a furious breath because he’s under contract, because he hasn’t made a movie in a year, because the last movie the woman mysteriously quit, and she remembers that night in the bar, the way he’d goaded her and the way he’s mocked her, remembers maybe an hour earlier, when he told her she’d be a _pornstar at pickup_ and she _knows_ it, she knows it the second the thought comes to her.

He’d picked her because he thought he could get her to quit.

She glances back up at the clock and - - right.

Ten minutes before they’re due on set.

She sets her mouth into a sullen line and she stews.

*

“Okay, so you’ll introduce yourself under your performing name, answer a few questions – I suggest you play to type – and then give the camera a wink, or an air kiss, a little, y’know, somethin’ somethin’ to tide the audience over, and we’re done.”

Beth nods, standing up a little straighter when the Thank You Ma’am social media host – Amber – some skinny blonde oozing a frenetic energy through her thin, corporate branded t-shirt – stands a little closer. She spins them both towards the camera, watching as the cameraman counts down three – two – one on his fingers.

“Hi guys, so I’m here on the set of Thank You Ma’am’s latest _very_ _special_ production, with Pearl Cleaver, who is making her on-camera debut in about – oh – fifteen minutes now – with the one, the only – _Rio_. Come on now, let’s all give Pearl a Thank You Ma’am welcome.”

She smiles wanly over at Beth as the cameraman counts down again for what will inevitably be a dubbed in applause or welcome music or whatever. She gestures for Beth to wave, and she does awkwardly, and she wants to focus – she _does,_ but it’s just - -

_Why_ did he want to quit?

“Okay, Pearl, I’m just gonna say it. You are like, living a lot of women’s dream right now. Rio is a multi-AVN Award winning star, _and_ the star of a whole lot of _sexy_ fantasies too. To not only be debuting with an incredible team, but one of the best in the business is a total golden ticket moment. Are you just _riding_ the high?”

Was he just over it? Over the praise, the women, the money?

Beth wets her lips, furrows her forehead.

Was he - -

“Pearl,” Amber says, irritation already biting at her tongue, and Beth blinks, pulled from her thoughts.

“What?”

“Just asked if you are riding the high knowing what you’re about to _take_ on? Or should I say in?”

Beth flusters, looks at the camera. She smiles, awkward, all teeth.

“ _So_ much, the opportunity is just amazing. To be picked by Rio himself was just - -” 

“Picked by Rio himself?”

The sentiment is offered like a life raft or a prompt, Beth can’t be sure, but either way Amber stares at her encouragingly (or at least with _please don’t fuck this up_ eyes) and - - right. Gretchen had briefed her last week. Told her to play it up – Rio picking her. Beth paints on her most flattered, girlish smile.

“Yeah, he picked me himself. Thank You Ma’am held auditions to find raw talent, and - -” she bounces a little on the spot, brightens her smile. Lays it on thick. “I guess I won.”

“Well, we do know Rio likes it raw,” Amber says, winking dramatically back to the camera, and god, Beth thinks, the sudden thought of Annie seeing this seeping into her bones, the flush rapidly finding her cheeks, and - - no, she reminds herself. Don’t think of that.

But if she doesn’t think about that, her thoughts immediately slide back to Rio.

The way he’d told her she wouldn’t leave here the same.

_Pornstar in the pick-up line._

That little costume.

Who’s she kidding? She knows why he wants to quit.

Beth exhales hoarsely, something in her chest tightening, as Amber mugs at the camera beside her.

“Bet that’s quite the journey. Can you tell us a little about yourself before Thank You Ma’am pulled you from the crowd?”

“Oh! I was a secretary,” Beth says, trying to remember the story she’d created in her head for Pearl, trying to stop her gaze drifting out across the studio lot, to stop herself from _looking for him_. “Very much your regular woman, working the nine to five. I drive a _very_ boring car. I’m recently divorced, I have four - - _cats_.”

“Four cats!” Amber hoots, winking dramatically at the camera. “So you know your way around a pussy.”

And - - god. Beth blinks hard, embarrassment swelling in her chest, and she has to look away then. Look out at the crew grabbing bottles of water from a cooler, swapping stories. A few are watching her, which deepens the flush at her chest, and she thinks maybe of smiling over at them, to soften all of this, when she spots the gold teeth on the zip of a black bomber, and - -

She smiles dramatically, nodding, waving her hands around.

“Something like that! Yeah!”

She swallows thickly, her gaze darting up again, and god, she knows it’s him. Still, she lets her eyes drop, lets herself take him in, and he really is watching her – a look of pained amusement on his face, and something in her burns _hot_. Twisting back towards Amber, she tries to re-focus.

“Not that you need to worry about that today,” Amber says, winking again, and Beth nods, twisting her fingers. “So as a normal woman with a normal life and clearly way too many cats, what brought you to sign up for that audition?”

And - - well. Beth could almost laugh. Still, as reality bites at her ankles, she’s sure to titter, to bat her eyelashes down the camera lens, subtly twist her arms to jut out her breasts.

“Oh, wow, well, I mean, who hasn’t dreamed of something like this?”

The words feel dumb the second they’ve left her lips, but she still smiles wryly around at the camera, because it feels _right_ , feels like what’s being asked of her, but still – she bypasses Amber’s pleased look only to find Rio’s unimpressed one, and it just - - _catches_ in her.

Across the studio floor between them, somebody carries a tray of coffees, somebody else speaks loudly on their cell – gesturing one of the cameramen over to join whatever conversation he’s having. Krystal and Mindy chatter as they roll their touch-up carts out onto set, Krystal’s gaze lingering on Lucy at the far end of the soundstage, waiting until the other woman’s gaze rises to wave at her frantically, but still.

Beth stares at Rio, and Rio stares back, his dark eyes meeting her blue ones and she bites the inside of her lip, her cheek, inhales, and he just - -

Stares.

And.

Right.

“Are we finished here?” Beth asks Amber, who only blinks back at her, which, hell, Beth chooses to take as a resounding _yes._ She nods sharply, tightening her robe back around herself and beelining across the set floor towards Rio, not stopping until her slippered-toes practically hit the curve of his boots.

“Can we talk?”

He looks at her, eyelashes thick enough that Beth wants to spitefully pluck out each and every one.

He holds his hands out, offering her the floor.

“In private,” she grits out, and Rio shrugs, but when she strides down into the hallway, he follows.

*

The door has barely clicked shut on her tiny dressing room when she turns on him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes steely.

“Why’d you pick me?”

Because she needs it. She needs to hear him _say it_.

And she knows she’s right, but still – whatever Rio had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t _that_. A look of surprise briefly crosses his face, but he quickly schools it, dropping his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, rolling his shoulders back and looking over her head. He takes in her dressing room – her folded sweatpants, her knitting set up on the cushioned bench behind her, a phone charger, her day planner – all innocuous items that somehow tell a story, because they suddenly seem to be the most interesting things in the world to him.

“Dunno,” he says after a minute, and Beth shakes her head, because just - - god.

It’s _bullshit_. 

“I don’t believe that. They were doing this whole open call, right? You could’ve had whoever you wanted, but you chose me.”

And at least it’s enough to make him look at her again, even if it is in a way that feels patronising, his gaze pointedly dropping to her breasts beneath the lacy trim of her negligee, and Beth rocks her jaw, resisting the urge to sneer up at him, because she’s over this little act.

“Okay,” she says firmly, staring, unblinking up at him. “Do you want me to tell you why _I_ think you chose me?”

He scoffs, amused, opens his mouth to say something, but Beth cuts him off.

“I think you saw someone inexperienced and nervous and in over their head and you thought I wouldn’t go through with it.”

The amusement disappears from his face as the air conditioner hums above them. Beth could almost shiver from the cool of it, but she refuses to because she’ll be damned if she lets Rio think his stare can do anything to stir a reaction out of her. He sniffs, rocks his jaw.

“Yeah? And why would that make me pick you?”

“Because you want to quit, and me quitting lets you off the hook.”

And that’s enough to make him scoff again, only the sound is different in his throat this time. Not quite as mocking, more - - she’s not sure. Real, maybe. She shifts her weight a little, still staring up at him, even as he looks away, scuffs his toe on the carpet underneath them.

“Gretch tell you that?”

This time, she’s the one left surprised, because god, whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t _that_. Her eyes flick over his face, but he gives her nothing, his face a carefully constructed neutral and in the end she shakes her head, folds her arms over her chest.

“No, Dorothy and Lucy. But I think everyone knows.”

He doesn’t reply to that, and the quiet sprawls between them, enough the sounds from the hallway start to creep below her dressing room door. Beth jerks her head to push her hair back off her face, looks away, thinks of the costume, of _the pornstar in the pickup line_ and just - -

“Is it because of your son? Is he why you want to quit?”

It’s instant – the way his head snaps up to glare at her, his expression hard, and he drops his chin forwards, curling his lip into a sneer.

“Oh, you think you know me? Bet you seen me around, huh? Bet you got those lil’ fingers of yours wet with watchin’ me. Lemme tell you somethin’, darlin’ – ”

“ _No_ ,” Beth snaps quickly, flushing pink as she interrupts his snarling. “I don’t think I know you, but if it’s for your son, if that’s why you want me to back out, I - -”

The words settle on her tongue before she’d even thought them.

“I’ll quit.”

His head jerks back, surprised, but Beth knows that it’s true. After all – she’s _doing_ this for hers, isn’t she? If she can’t offer him the same choice for his then who even is she anymore? She’s got half the money at least, anyway, and hell, maybe she can get Lucy to pass on Mona’s details, get herself a job working for her. She shuffles a little on the spot, watching him watch her, his eyes working her over, like she’s a puzzle he can’t quite figure out, and in the end, he just asks her: 

“Why you so hellbent on doin’ this thing anyway? You don’t exactly seem the type.”

And - - well. Beth swallows, looks away before she can help herself, but - - no. She doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of. Or no – she does, she thinks, but she won’t let herself be. 

“My husband – my _ex_ -husband lost all our money. I have four children,” she tilts her chin up proudly, squares her shoulders, because she won’t let it happen. She won’t let anyone humiliate her over this. Not anymore. “I haven’t - - I have been a stay at home mother practically my whole life. I have an opportunity though, to make children’s costumes, like the one Lucy’s made for your son, but I need to, um. I need to - -”

She stumbles over the word, but Rio nods like he gets it.

“Bankroll it,” he finishes for her, and Beth blinks, before nodding sharply herself. “You can’t get a loan or nothin’? Somethin’ from family? Friends?”

Beth shakes her head this time, and Rio’s nod slows, his hands finally coming out of his pockets. He looks at her, seems to drink her in, and Beth shuffles a little under the weight of his look. Silence settles over them for a moment, and Beth swallows thickly, mind reeling back to her budget, figuring out if she can re-work the costumes with the money she’s already been paid when Rio suddenly speaks again.

“Bet you’re glad he’s your ex, huh?”

The offering is so unexpected, offered so frankly, so plainly, Beth barks on a laugh, wrinkling her nose in surprise or amusement or both, she’s not sure.

“Very,” she says finally, looking up at him, and Rio smiles back at her, and the moment just sort of – flutters there between them briefly, like a moth caught in a hand. Rio rolls his shoulders back, buries his hands in his pockets again, looks away, and Beth just - - watches him. Takes in the line of him. Her head briefly quiet.

“Ain’t fun,” he tells her. “Hangin’ at your kid’s birthday party and havin’ people come up askin’ about your next thing.”

And no, she can’t imagine it would be. The grin slips off her face, and Rio sucks on his teeth, staring at the wall to the side of the room.

“They ain’t got - - ” he huffs out a breath, rocks his jaw, balls his hands into fists in his pockets. He shakes his head. “Shit. Nothin’ stops ‘em. They think coz you star in their fuckin’ wet dreams, that because you who they see when they fuckin’ people they don’t like, that they know you. That you belong to ‘em. It ain’t right, and my kid, he already knows somethin’. When he’s old enough to ask about it, I wanna be able to use past tense, yeah?”

The line of his nose is strong, the profile of him something elegant, firm, and has she noticed that before? She doesn’t think so, but she misses it when he turns back to look at her, dark-eyed and mysterious and almost ephemeral. A shifting, unknowable thing. 

“I like what I do,” he tells her. “And I’m fuckin’ good at it, but I don’t like the shit that comes with it, and I especially don’t like it affectin’ my kid. That’s all.”

She nods, a sharp jerk of her chin, understanding.

Outside, she can hear heels clipping down the hallway, can smell the distinct, oily smell of hash browns and bacon, fried eggs and tomatoes. Can feel, still, the cool bite of the air conditioning, but also the heat that radiates off of Rio, the prickling tension of the space between them.

“I’ll quit,” she repeats, and Rio looks up at her again, his gaze darting rapidly over her face, taking her in. He swallows, rocking his jaw again. “I won’t tell them it’s you. I’ll just say I got cold feet.”

“Why?”

She looks at him, and he looks almost mistrustful. He wets his lips, and Beth just shrugs, sighs, and, god, she’s already exhausted. She holds out her hands.

“I’m _here_ for my kids. If you _don’t_ want to be here because of yours, I’m not going to stand in your way. I’m sure Gretchen can organise somebody else for me to - - ”

She flails a hand out, and he snorts in a way that makes her roll her eyes. Still, she clears her throat, tightening her robe back around herself, and when Rio says nothing to dissuade her, she moves around him, starts towards her dressing room door, steeling herself for what will no doubt be a nightmare conversation, the thought of all she’s letting go bubbling to the surface, and god, she _knows_ she’s making a bad choice, but - -

“Fuck it.”

She blinks, spins on the spot to where Rio’s turned too to face her again, his expression oddly neutral, but his eyes are - -

God, they’re bright.

“Excuse me?”

“Fuck it,” he repeats, hands back in his pockets. He shrugs this time, tilts his head sideways. “I’ll throw Gretchen a bone, yeah?”

He smirks a little at his own innuendo in a way that makes Beth squint at him, confused, shake her head. She holds up a hand.

“Okay, wait a minute, you - - ”

But he doesn’t let her finish.

“Gotta keep ‘em on the hook, right? Can’t flip all the ladies they bring me.”

“ _Flip_?” Beth says, instantly offended, and Rio grins at her, and it’s all teeth still, only this time they don’t feel bared at her, and when he moves forwards, there’s a spring in his step. Still, she flails at him. “Why?”

Pausing, Rio stares at her for a minute, two, before finally shrugging.

“Guess I like a bitch bossin’ up when her dumbass ex can’t. ‘Sides, you and me? I think we could make some money.”

Reeling back a little, Beth stares at him, her mouth falling open in surprise, but before she can ask him what the hell it is he’s on, he gestures to the door behind Beth.

“You gonna open that?”

And she does, walking out into the hall, watching him stride out beside her, an energy sort of radiating off of him in a way she hasn’t seen before. He claps a few of the passing crew members on their shoulders, swaps a few jokes, and by the time they’re on the soundstage, he’s grinning at the look of naked relief on Gretchen’s face.

He claps his hands together, says:

“’Ey, where you want us?”

*

The beat of Rio’s balled up fist on the door echoes around the soundstage, and Beth sucks in a breath. Her legs are already jittery underneath her as she wobbles down the small, faux staircase at the edge of the set, clutching at the railing until her knuckles glow white.

“Yo, open up!”

His voice is harsh, rough, louder than she’s used to (if she could really say she’s used to Rio at all). His fist beats harder, and Beth’s gaze darts sideways, to where one of the cameras rolls, the cameraman – some moustached guy with a hairline so receded she can see beads of sweat glisten on his scalp under the stagelights and - - _no_ , don’t look at the cameras. That was rule one.

Her bare feet find the floor after the bottom step, feel the bristle of new carpet, and she clutches a hand to her chest, just like they rehearsed, spreads out her fingers so the neck of the robe parts, exposing the first glimpse of cleavage to the cameras.

“Not without knowing who it is!” she calls back, loading her voice with as much hesitation as she can, batting her lashes wildly, and out of the corner of her eye she sees the cameraman shift.

“I’m the guy your bitch-ass husband owes 300g.”

And it was rough before, but there’s something jagged in it now, in the way he says it, and it drags something hot through Beth’s centre in a way that makes her shiver. She steals her breath, starts towards the door, tries to remember the steps, to pace it out, to not look like she’s thinking about any of it at all.

“My husband is _not_ a bitch, and neither is his ass,” she calls, shaking her head, letting her strawberry blonde curls bounce around her face.

“Listen, lady, me and him got business to work out, so - - ”

“Well, he’s not here,” she calls back, cutting him off, and Rio pauses, waits for her to tiptoe the rest of the way to the door, to lean up, stare through the peephole, and she can see him like that – all pornstar smoulder, his eyes dark, his lips already wet, parted, knowing what he’s doing, and _right_ , Beth thinks, her chest tightening, _he’s done this before_.

She swallows thickly, then tries to play it up for the camera, pressing her chest briefly against the door, sticking her ass out in the air behind her, enough her robe fans out and the camera can get a good look at her panties below.

“But…maybe I could open the door and you and me could work that business out,” she says, a put-upon breathlessness as she tugs open the door, and Rio promptly strides through it. He makes a show out of looking around the room, as if briefly searching for her husband, and seeing that she’s alone, he drops his gaze heavily to her.

It’s different than before, than usual – something in his eyes that has her briefly breathless, has her clenching, dampening her panties already, and he knows it, must, because he steps a little closer, into her space, dropping his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket.

“Yeah?” he purrs. “And how you think we gonna do that?”

As soon as the words have left his mouth, he sucks in his lower lip, staring down at her, all heat and intensity and - - and - -

Right.

Blowjob.

She wets her lips, bats her eyelashes at him as her trembling hands find the knot on her robe, making awkward work of untying it and then slipping the thing off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor at their feet. His eyes drop, take in every inch of her skimpy lace negligee, her miles of pale skin, her breasts – pushed up and presented to him like a gift, and she swears she sees his Adam’s apple bob.

“Well, I have a few ideas, mister.”

Humming, Rio raises a hand, reaches to press his thumb to her bottom lip, tugging it down, and the rough pad of it, the thickness of it, it’s just - - is this the first time he’s touched her?

No. They did this in rehearsal.

Still.

Her nerves feel like they’re _flickering_.

“Yeah? Well, they better be 300g’s worth of ideas, baby.”

Instantly, she sucks his thumb into her mouth, just like they’d practiced, her hands reaching for his belt, and she thinks he says something else, but Beth doesn’t hear it, can only hear her own blood, rushing in her ears, feel it thundering through her veins. Feel her tongue, which suddenly feels too big in her mouth, the weight of his thumb there, taking up so much space. Feel the rough carpet under her knees as she drops to them, her hands fumbling as she undoes Rio’s belt, and then his button, his fly, and she blinks up at him through her lashes only to see the camera lingering by his shoulder, pointing straight down at her as she slips a hand into Rio’s jeans, his underwear, and pulls out his cock.

And - -

Okay.

It’s big.

And she knew that, of course she knew that – has seen it plenty on her laptop screen, on her phone screen, had felt it pressed against her during the rehearsals, but the reality is - - well. She swallows thickly, gaze flicking up around it towards Rio (and god, he’s barely even hard yet), and he just stares down at her, rocks his hips ever so gently so that his cock slides in her hand.

“You think you can take all that, darlin’? In that little mouth of yours?”

He’s almost smug about it, which checks out she thinks, shifting on her knees on the carpet, her fingers curling around him, getting a sense of it – taking in the curve, the girth, running her hand gently up his length a few times, and this is what this is, right?

This is - -

This is _it_.

Leaning forwards, she licks at the tip, feeling his cock twitch in her hand, and she lifts it, dropping her head to meet it, running her tongue from the base back to the tip, before taking him in her mouth. Not all of him - - that’s not going to happen, Beth thinks, working her lips down around his cock, smearing her lipstick, and she works her hand across the part of him her mouth can’t take, feeling him swear above her in a way that makes heat rush down her body, pool in her cunt.

She hums a little, feeling him grunt in response, thrust his hips suddenly forwards, in a way that makes her gag, and then his hand is there, stroking down the back of her head in something akin to an apology, and Beth loosens up again, losing herself in the sounds of him, the weight of him on her tongue as her head bobs up and down.

“So fuckin’ good, baby,” she hears him purr above her, and his voice comes as such a shock, such a _trigger_ in the moment that she feels her panties dampen, feels the heat already building low in her start to - - to _leak out of her_. She blinks rapidly, tries to quell it, pulling her mouth almost the whole way off before going down again, taking as much of him as she can, and there are tears building in the corners of her eyes, feeling him hit somewhere close to the back of her mouth, and he grunts, swears again, and this time when she comes off him, he keeps her off him.

Grabbing her wrist, Beth can’t quite help the yelp when he yanks her up, so firmly, so _strongly_ her feet scramble out beneath her, and then he’s kicking off his pants and yanking her against his thigh, spreading her legs against them so she can rub herself against his leg through the layers of her already sopping panties, her negligee, her hips bucking, his hands holding her ass, holding her to his still-hard cock in a bruising tight grip, her feet barely touching the floor, and god it’s just - - too _good_ already.

“Oh, you gaggin’ for it, huh? That husband of yours ain’t good at finishin’ nothin’, huh? Not jobs for me, not _you_. How long you gone without?”

Beth blinks rapidly, her breaths coming shorter, sharper, still basically riding his thigh, his fingers gripping her ass so tight she can barely move except to roll her hips against him, and she keens a little when he looks down at her. He hums, dropping his eyes to her breasts, heaving over the neckline of her negligee. “You gonna let me come on these tonight?”

When he says it, he grinds his thigh against her to make her gasp, and Beth drops her hand to his cock, stroking him, while the other clutches at his shoulder, wanting to be put down, wanting to stay on him, wanting release, wanting - -

Her gaze catches and she sees Noah off to the side, gesturing at her with the script, and - - and _right_ , Beth thinks, fumbling in her head for her lines.

“Depends how good this bad boy can be,” she tells him, and god, it’s a stupid line, but Rio laughs menacingly, in-character, grabbing a handful of her ass as he says:

“Don’t worry, mami, I can be _real_ good _._ ”

It’s all it takes for her to lean forwards and kiss him, to feel the soft weight of his lips against hers, the nip of his teeth then the push of his tongue. She moans, kissing him more passionately than she should, than she has the right to, because god, this is _work,_ and she knows the camera is whirring around them, knows there’s dozens of crew members hovering, buzzing with energy, but all she can feel on her is Rio, his mouth on hers, his hands squeezing her ass before dropping lower to her thighs, hiking her bodily up against him, just like they’d practiced.

He walks them back towards the couch, kissing her the whole time, before he drops her to the floor again, turning her quickly around and gliding a hand firmly up her back, pushing her forwards over the back of the couch. She flushes, gets her hands underneath her enough to ensure her breasts hang out over the cushions, not behind them or in them, swallowing when she sees one of the cameramen move to face her.

And it’s a lot, she thinks, feeling her legs tremble, feeling Rio’s strong hand, splayed at her back, holding her down, feeling his other one slide up her thighs, circling a knuckle against her clit through the thin fabric of her panties, before he slips a hand into them, his fingers ghosting at her cunt, and Beth just - - she can’t help it.

She clenches _hard_.

Behind her, she feels Rio shift, feels his finger make a vain attempt at pushing into her, trailing through her wetness for lubrication, but she just - - she can’t unclench. She blinks, flushing to the roots of her hair, willing herself to loosen, but god, she just can’t _do it_ , and it’s a relief when she feels Rio pivot above her.

“Need a bit more warmin’ up, baby?” he purrs. “We can do that.”

His fingers slide up to her clit, and Beth’s hips jerk, the rough pad of his finger making all too perfect motions over her, and she lets her eyelashes flutter shut as he touches her, as he leans over her, his chest warm, already a little sweaty against her back (and god, when had he taken his shirt off?). He brushes his lips against her neck, nosing up against the base of her skull.

The sensations are almost too perfect, the smell of him – clean and masculine – are something she could swim in, the weight of him against her back something she could drown beneath, and she keens against the cushions, pushing her hips back into his, and his fingers lower again, try to press inside her, but - - but - -

Rio’s lips slide up to ghost against the shell of her ear.

“You gotta unclench,” he whispers sharply, and Beth squirms against him, swallows thickly, the back of the couch already hurting her belly, and god, she does need to - - _urgently_ but - - she just _can’t_.

“I’m trying,” she mumbles back, and Rio nods, the movement tight, keeping it imperceptible to the cameras, and Beth sucks in a breath, steeling herself. With a flutter of her eyelashes, she tries to call on any fantasy she has, anything that could push this moment aside, get her as open and desperate as she feels in her bed, but they all star _him_ which just reminds her of where she is, and - - oh, _god_. He tries one more time, his finger prodding, the tip just edging in, before he abruptly pulls his hand out of her panties and steps back.

The sudden shift in warmth, in pressure, in _him_ leaves her strangely cold, and she twists a little to look at him, to watch him step away from her, and when the director yells _cut_ , it feels muffled somehow, as if she’s hearing it from a different room.

Still, she stands up awkwardly, her body stiff as she straightens herself up, and she tries to catch Rio’s eye, but he won’t look at her. Just runs his hand back over his head, a look of annoyance crossing his features. It only sharpens when the director steps close to them, his headphones off now, looped around his neck as he looks between them.

“There a problem?” he asks, and Beth flushes in embarrassment, wetting her lips, and she’s about to say it, when Rio jerks his chin in her direction.

“Yeah, man, her cunt’s wound tighter than a nun’s, so - -”

“ _Excuse me_?” Beth hisses, mortified, a blush exploding across her chest, and Rio just gives her an unimpressed look in response, his hand dropping down his body towards his only half-hard cock. He fists it, slowly jerking himself off and Beth’s eyes widen dramatically as nobody else on set bats an eye, and it takes her a minute to remember what they’d talked about in the rehearsal - - about him needing to _stay_ hard between takes and during any directions. She looks away, huffing out a breath, trying to ignore the damp feeling of her panties and the way they’re sitting funny from how quickly he’d pulled his hand out of them.

“So it’ll be good for you,” the director tells Rio. “Maybe say that on camera,” he adds, before turning back to Beth. His expression loading with a base, faux sympathy. He softens his voice.

“You okay, honey? Need to take a minute? You let us know, okay.”

“I’m - -” Beth blinks, glancing around at the set, the crew chatting, a few of them watching them, another couple fiddling with equipment. Working, Beth reminds herself. They’re all working, and she’s messing this up for them, and - - Right.

She swallows thickly, shakes her head. “No. All good.”

The director claps his hands together, pleased.

“Great, okay, well, let’s take it from the _warming up_ line, okay?”

Everyone agrees, and Beth adjusts herself awkwardly back over the couch, letting Rio resettle at her back, his hand sliding back into her panties, lubricating itself between her still-wet folds and she sucks in a breath at the slick movement of his fingers there, trying not to clench her eyes shut, as he starts to mouth at her neck again. He drags his cock against her ass cheek, sucks a little at the skin just below her ear, and Beth gasps, feeling the heat pool in her again, feeling him pull closer, feeling herself clench tighter again, and she’s still trying to - - to _loosen up_ when Rio’s finger presses against her, and - -

And - -

Suddenly Rio’s off her again.

Beth blinks wildly, her eyes opening (and god, when had she closed them?) staring up at the too-bright stage lights, someone calling cut. She leans up, watches as Rio strides across the set, grabbing his underwear and slipping them on. He’s still adjusting his cock in them when he turns back to the speechless director and says:

“Yeah, we gonna need that minute after all.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, we’ve just – ”

“Take five,” Gretchen calls, overruling. She steps easily onto the set, looks at Beth briefly, not unkindly, before promptly walking over to Rio. The two exchange a few words below their breaths, and Beth honestly has no idea what she says, what he does, but she can hear the sharpness in both their tones, when Rio suddenly turns on the spot back to face her.

And she can feel it, that he’s going to call her out again, only this time there’ll be an audience, and her breathing shallows and god, she can taste him on her tongue still, and why couldn’t she just - - _do_ it, why couldn’t she - -

A big, warm hand grabs her wrist, pulling her up to her feet, and Beth blinks in surprise as Rio starts walking, tugging her off the set, down the hall, and out of sight.

*

The door of his dressing room bangs shut behind them, and Rio finally lets go of her wrist, letting her yank it back towards her chest, rubbing at it a little despite the fact that he hadn’t held onto it particularly hard.

Where her dressing room is small, plain and virtually empty, Rio’s is – well – _not_. It’s not to say it’s particularly homey or anything either, but it’s got to be at least twice the size of her own and set up in a way that implies that it might just be _his_ , and not shared with the rotating door of models and actors that share the other dressing rooms (god, Beth had even found somebody else’s earring left on the bench in hers). The walls are the same crisp white, but there’s a set of dark wood shelves in the corner, housing a few books – most of which seem to be in Spanish, a few neatly folded sweaters, jeans, a small sculpture of an abstract-styled couple lost in an embrace. The padded cushion has been removed from the long bench which seems to exist in every room in this building – his housing a toiletry bag, razor, cologne – allowing it to function more as a table than a seat, and in the role of the latter instead is a lush leather armchair that takes up the corner space. There’s even a plant beside it, a tall, healthy monstera that adds a rich green to the space, and it’s just - - nice, Beth thinks, taking it in, letting herself fall into the moment.

Safe from the too-new memories of the soundstage.

At least, she is until Rio finally looks up at her, fisting his hips, bare chest staring back at her, and - -

“You got a problem with me now or somethin’?”

Which - -

Beth blinks rapidly, staring across the room at him, her mouth dry, because _god_ , shouldn’t it be obvious the problem’s not with him? She’s the one who couldn’t - - who can’t - -

“Coz see, way I remember it, you been the one drivin’ this thing, and now you freezing up like some virgin on prom night.”

And well, that helps at least, she thinks, her insecurity and worry suddenly being overrun with a blistering anger, because _virgin at prom night?_ Please. She has four children, and besides - - where the hell does he get off? Goading her and pushing her, opening up to her and shutting her out in the same sentence, and just - - god, she still doesn’t even know why he suddenly changed his mind on doing this whole thing. If she’s been too tense to do - - _that_ , then that’s got to at least be partially on him.

“Okay, for starters, I am not _freezing up_ , I’m just - -” Rio rolls his eyes at her then, which only digs the roots of her anger deeper. She jabs a finger out at him, anger sparking in her gut. “In fact, I’d say that I am doing plenty of - - of _writhing_ and _moaning_ and in case _you_ forgot, I sucked you off, so –”

He scoffs, shaking his head at her, before he levels her with a patronising look.

“Sure, baby, and you can do all the writhin’ and moanin’ and _suckin_ ’ you want, but if I ain’t even getting a finger in, something ain’t workin’,” he tells her, and Beth flushes, insulted, until Rio pauses, staring at her, and seeming to lose the thread of his own irritation. He firms his gaze up at her and adds: “I ain’t forcin’ nothin’, yeah? Not with you, not with anyone.”

Which - -

God, Beth never thought that he _was_.

She blinks rapidly, her own anger fizzling as she shifts her weight, rubbing a little at her arms. Behind him, the monstera seems to loom, it’s wide, green leaves forming a neat backdrop to his tanned skin, the black line of his boxer briefs, and just - - with the anger gone, all that’s left is what was there before it. The worry. The insecurity. Her eyelashes flutter shut, and she shakes her head.

“You’re not forcing anything,” she tells him. “I do want - -” she looks at him, looks away. “ _It_. And I’m - - ”

She gestures, flushing, and Rio looks briefly amused which, hell, at least that gives them something to build off. She huffs out a breath.

“ _Wet_. I - - it’s been a while,” she offers, because god, it _has_ , and maybe that’s something she should’ve addressed before she showed up here, but it’s not like she has a time machine. She shrugs her shoulders, her cheeks still pink, before she adds: “And I guess I’ve got a bit of stage fright with all the people and the cameras and. All of it probably.”

When she’s finished, she exhales in a huff, squirming a little on the spot, watching as Rio levels her with an unreadable look – and it’s almost like he doesn’t entirely believe her, and Beth frowns, ready to double down on her point when Rio finally huffs out a breath himself. 

“Well, either you gotta find a way to loosen up, or we’re done here,” he tells her, and Beth blinks back at him, mouth open for a minute, offended, but then - -

She can’t really be.

It’s not like he’s wrong, after all, and Beth wraps her arms a little around herself, feels herself shift her weight again. She should go back to her own dressing room, she thinks, pull out her vibrator. Should get herself off, thinking about him on her tongue, him behind her (and even the thought of that makes heat drop through her), should see if the thing can get her ready for him, but god, he’s so _big_ like - - twice the size of that, and she inhales a little, when Rio interrupts her thoughts again.

“You actually even wanna do this?”

Beth blinks up at him, and it’s so sudden – the bubble of anger rising in her chest again. She bares her teeth, stepping forwards.

“Are you seriously trying to get me to quit again after I just - - ”

But he rolls his eyes, waves a hand at her, like that’s not what he meant.

“Answer the question, Elizabeth. You wanna do this or not?”

The dismissal is so frank, so blasé, that Beth can’t help but prickle. She stops in her stride, but waves her hands out, holds them open to him, as she argues:

“I _told_ you, I have four children, my ex - -”

“I ain’t askin’ if you _have_ to,” he huffs, interrupting her, annoyed. “I’m askin’ if you _want_ to.”

Which is enough to make Beth stop at least, to stare at him in surprise, and it’s just - - not really a question she even considered, at least not consciously. Her options are so limited, her needs so great, that this had presented like the opportunity it was, and everything else was damned in the process of it. But with the question though, with the chance to pause, Beth stares at him and remembers the way she’d felt, getting the callback. She remembers the audition, the way he’d looked at her, remembers the rehearsals, remembers wrestling control from him, remembers being _heard_. Remembers today. Hearing what Mona had achieved, the kindness she’d felt. The warmth. Remembers best of all Annie and Ruby – constant and unwavering. Just - - _there_.

Remembers how _all_ of it had made her feel.

Just - -

_Alive_ again.

“Yes,” she says finally, emphatically, and Rio stares at her, his eyes searching her face and obviously finding what it is he wants, because he nods at her, his mouth falling slightly open, his eyes skimming down her body, settling on her breasts in a way that makes him close his mouth, visibly swallow. He nods his head again, before jerking his chin to the bench behind her.

“Take off your panties and sit on the bench.”

Which - -

“ _What_?”

The flush finds her cheeks instantly, her throat lurching, heat pooling low in her, and he’s got to be joking, because they’re supposed to be doing this _out there_ , not in here, and - -

“We gonna do this, we gotta loosen you up,” he says simply, shrugging. “So I’m gonna get you there in here, so we ain’t doin’ whatever that was out there again.”

Vaguely, Beth can hear the crew moving equipment outside, a few people chatter, the flush of a toilet. Can smell the waft of bad coffee and the hint of Rio’s cologne. Can smell herself, wet and wanting.

She stares at him, stares at him as he nods again, briefly grabbing his cock through his underwear, which only makes Beth look at _that_ and just - - before she can think any more of it, she slides her hands into the sides of her panties, pushing them off awkwardly, before kicking them aside. She clears her throat a little as she turns around, tugging her negligee down to cover herself before hoisting herself onto his bench, cringing a little when she feels her bare ass on the cold surface of it. She’s still adjusting herself there when Rio suddenly steps forwards, sinking to his knees and grabbing her legs, hooking them over his shoulders.

The movement is enough for her to gasp a little, to look down in disbelief right as he nips up her inner thigh. With a yelp, Beth tries to close her legs, but Rio holds them open, keeping his hands locked on her thighs as he mouths his way down to her cunt, leaving a hot trail in his wake, and he just - - he wastes no time – leaning in to lick a line through her folds, tongue nimbly finding her clit and tonguing roughly at it. It’s enough to make her keel back, keening, hitting her head against the wall behind her in a way that makes Rio laugh between her legs, the vibrations of that making her squirm.

“Oh, fuck,” she says, breathless already, and Rio just - - he keeps going – relentlessly licking, sucking, biting at her clit, holding her to him so she can’t wriggle away, and the line of tension in her is just too _good_ , too hot – _he’s_ too good, too hot – and she throws a hand up to cover her own mouth, the other finding the back of his head as he works her over with his tongue.

She feels it – his finger prying, and this time it slips inside of her without resistance, her cunt swallowing it greedily, and god, it’s _long_ and _thick_ , and when he adds a second, fucking them into her, she can’t control the keen that escapes her throat, deep and guttural and fuck, she didn’t even know she could _make_ a sound like that.

By the time he pushes in his third finger, she’s toppling over the edge of her orgasm, the tension in her snapping like a line, and she’s barely caught her breath when Rio is heaving up over her, his lips, chin, wet with her, shoving her hand away from her mouth and then he’s _kissing her_. It’s not the lush, but hard, toothy one from in front of the cameras, but something deep, and long. His mouth swallowing her moans, the noises she can’t control, and then - - then her ass is being pulled off the bench, and he’s _lifting_ her, pulling her sideways, away from it, so that he can sink her into the wall beside it.

“’m gonna fuck you,” he hums against her mouth, and Beth’s eyes snap open, feeling him shift beneath her, feels him drag the head of his cock through her folds, feels him nudge at her raw clit with it. She sucks in a breath and Rio grins, noses at her temple, breathes hot at her ear. “You think you ready for it?”

And - - right.

She needs to be, she knows that, but - - feeling him beneath her, his cock already nudging at her cunt, feeling his shoulders, tense and narrow beneath her hands, she knows she wants it too. She nods, and Rio pants a little, lining himself up properly and slowly edging the head of his cock into her.

He fucks into her softly, an inch at a time, letting her adjust above him, letting her feel it out until she’s ready to sink herself onto him every time he thrusts a little deeper, feeling herself stretch to take him. She’s breathless with it, with the girth of him, the length, and finally he’s fucking her deeply, finding that spot inside her that makes her see stars, and she gasps, pawing at the back of his neck, rocking her hips against his, and - -

“Are you - - ” she gasps, when he finds that spot again, driving constantly against it, her eyes fluttering. “Are you in?”

Because surely he has to be. Surely this is _all_ of him. She can feel him so deep inside her she’s pretty sure she can taste him or god, maybe that’s just a memory still too. It’s enough to make Rio laugh though, rough and deep, to nose at her neck, bite at the hinge of her jaw in a way that makes her clench around him.

“Nah, mama, there’s more to come.”

His voice is husky, and she feels him slide a little deeper.

“You think you can take all of it? You gonna let me fill you up?”

Her toes curl, and she blinks, jerks her head back so she can look at him, and it doesn’t feel real, how much she wants him. She nods, a sharp jerk of her chin, and Rio grins, moving over her, pushing into her until she’s moaning.

“That’s right, darlin’, like that.”

She’s almost panting when he bottoms out, the sharp edges of his hips pressing open her thighs, and it’s just the sensation of being so _full_ , held so open, stretched around - - around _him_ , and she thinks she might be babbling because Rio leans in to kiss her.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts against her lips, rolling his hips in a way that makes her hiccup and clench around him, as if to emphasise the point. “You ain’t ever been fucked right, huh?”

And it’s what he says in the script, but it doesn’t feel like he’s in character, not now. Feels like he _means_ it, and she tries to shift her leg up, to better the angle, and Rio picks up on it immediately, grabbing her leg, hiking it up almost to her armpit, and her head falls back in a groan when he moves his hips just so, rubbing against that spot again.

“You don’t gotta worry about that with me,” he tells her. “We gonna fuck right in here, then we gonna fuck right out there. Few more sets of eyes out there, but all you gotta think about is this.”

He thrusts into her hard, and Beth gasps.

“Let me think about the rest. I fucked enough women, yeah? I know what looks good. I’ll make you look good too.”

And god, it’s tempting, but - -

But even now, in the throes of this - - of _him_.

She’s done letting men think for her.

“I can think about it too,” she tells him, looking at him, only to gasp when he thrusts back in. She scrambles at his neck, head, rolling her hips down to meet his. “I know what looks good too.”

It’s enough for him to turn dark eyes down on her, his pupils blown, his chin still glistening with her, and she swallows a moan, rocking onto him.

“Yeah? How you know that?”

“I’ve watched you.”

Rio’s thrusts increase in pace, in movement, and she thinks of watching him, of _wanting_ him and it’s like the floodgates open and she can’t stop herself, can’t _help it_ , because she opens her eyes and it’s him, and she closes her eyes and it’s him – boxing, skimming pool tops, pumping gas, dressed in scrubs, smouldering and fucking, shoulders rippling, neck long, eyes dark and - -

“I know how you look best,” she says it breathlessly, honestly, impossibly turned on, and Rio’s hips stutter, then they smooth, languid and long in a way that makes her bite back a groan.

“You watch me at home, mami? You watch me in bed?”

“I watch you everywhere,” she says, scratching her nails down the back of his head, clutching at him, panting. She blinks. “I see you when I touch myself.”

He just laughs at that, warm and closed in her neck.

“Lotta women do.”

But no, she’s not - - that’s not what she means.

“I’m not talking about a lot of women.”

He holds his head back, stares at her, and she summons the confidence to brush her fingers against his lower lip, cant her hips up towards his, watches his eyes glaze, watches them dip down to watch his cock in her.

“Or maybe I am,” her gaze flits over him, feels his hips stutter, watches him move – different now, with her eyes open, with her gaze on him. “I think you like being watched.”

As soon as she says it, he groans, hauling her higher up the wall, fucking her deep, so deep her eyes slip shut and she moans, clutching at him again, her legs wrapping around his hips, as he says:

“You like it too.”

She clenches around him, blinking wildly, driving down to meet his thrusts.

“I don’t know yet,” she tells him, and Rio grunts, almost amused. He raises a hand and her weight dips down without his support, making her fall back on his cock in a way that makes them both moan, before he pushes her hair aside.

“Yeah,” he growls against her now bare neck. “You do. Knew it the moment you got all mad and shit at me and Gretch in your audition. You don’t like bein’ ignored. You like bein’ seen.”

She clenches again, eyes falling shut, her thighs wobble, breath catches in her throat, and Rio laughs roughly against her throat.

“Yeah, you like it. I see you. We get in there, everyone’s gonna see you.”

And well - -

After that, neither of them last long.

*

“Oh, how wonderful of you both to grace us with your presence! Glad to hear you both got your rocks off, but believe it or not, we haven’t hired this _film_ crew to not – y’know – _film it_.”

And honestly, it’s fair, Beth thinks, shrugging apologetically over at Noah, as Gretchen and the director both shoot unamused looks at Rio across the set. She doesn’t think they were gone that long really, or even that loud, but - - she flushes, tucking her hair behind her ears, long enough, and loud enough, apparently, for the crew to share knowing looks with her. God, her flush deepens, and she swallows thickly, already sore, almost boneless, fucked out, and just - - is there a word? For a bad sort of good? Because she feels so _good_ and they just - -

Have so much more sex to have.

Like he’s read her mind, Rio grins back at her briefly, before looking over at Gretchen, waving his hand out in concession at her, before gesturing back towards the crew.

“We makin’ this thing or what?” he says, and well – Beth rolls her eyes at that, because way to read the room, but still. The director sighs, pointing Beth over to the couch, when Rio shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop her walking any further.

“Nah, let’s go from the top,” he says, turning to stare at her, or - - not at _her_. At her lips, and god - - more than one part of her _clenches_.

*

“You think you can take all that, darlin’? In that little mouth of yours?”

The carpet’s scratching at her already sore knees as she feels the almost-familiar-now weight of him in her hands, slowly starting to jerk him off, only - - only this time, he _doesn’t_ do the familiar.

Rio knocks her hand away, grabbing his half-hard cock himself, stroking it lazily like he had between takes, only - - only now the camera’s rolling.

Beth blinks, briefly confused, but Rio only knocks her slightly back, moving to drag the head of his cock over her lips, before pulling back slightly, still jerking it. Inching closer, Beth reaches for his hips, saliva building in the back of her mouth in anticipation of him, but before she can get her mouth on him, he drags it down over her chin, down her neck, bending his knees just enough to smear pre-cum over the mounds of her breasts. He drags the head of his cock in it, the feeling making her clench, before he nestles it briefly in her cleavage.

“Might fuck these later too, yeah?” he hums, voice low, and Beth feels a heavy drop of heat in her as she looks up at him. “You like that, mami? Thought of me fuckin’ those big tits of yours? Most ladies can’t take a cock like mine there, but you can, ain’t that right?”

He drops a hand to squeeze at her breast, and she hears the whir of the camera somewhere above her, but god, she’s already dripping again, heat swelling between her legs. It’s like he knows, because suddenly he stands up straighter again, moving his cock back to her lips, and this time he lets her touch him, lets her replace his hand with her own, running her fingers featherlight up the base, just to feel him twitch, before she closes her lips around him.

She swirls her tongue around the head before sucking him in deeper, inching forwards across the carpet as she does. Above her, she can feel the camera filming her, catching her, and it’s enough to make her squirm, for the line of her arousal to tighten, and she’s sure this time to look up at Rio, to make sure the camera can catch her eyes, big and blue, her lashes thick, as she keeps it going, taking him as deep as she can. And sure, a little too far – once or twice – making her splutter around him, but it works, if Rio’s sharp intake of breath is anything to go by, and there’s something in it all that just feels _better_ , feels surer now, knowing that she can do this.

Now they’ve done this bit before.

Hollowing her cheeks, she moves to fondle his balls, feeling them tighten as she keeps working his cock, her gaze drifting up to take in the line of him, the fluid movements, the dammed ones, ones where he tightens his grip in her hair, and it’s strange. How quickly the sense of power builds in her. How rapidly she works out how to play him, how the memories of watching him flood her mind, how quickly she can use it on him, and she sucks a little harder, drags her tongue a little firmer, feels his body shift above her, and he gestures, trying to push her off, and they should be going into the next position, she knows that, but also - -

Also he’d made her come so easily in that dressing room, his head between her legs, and well.

Maybe she can too.

She squirms a little at his feet, heat pooling low in her as she takes him deeper in her mouth, and he grunts, fisting her hair, tugging it back, tugging her _off_ , but she doesn’t let him. Just keeps going, keeps sucking and fondling and stroking until he can’t take it anymore and he’s coming, the salty taste of him coating her tongue, teeth, roof of her mouth, spilling out of the corners of it, and she swallows around him as best she can in a way that has him groaning loudly above her.

Exhaling, Beth pulls off him, her cheeks flushed as she stares up at him through her lashes, watching as he catches his breath, pushing his cock back into his underwear and doing up his jeans. In response, Beth pulls up her negligee a little, primly dabbing the corners of her mouth with the hem of it, cleaning off her saliva and his cum, and the way he looks down at her, hot and maybe impressed just makes her feel - - makes her feel - -

Before she can think any more of it, he tugs her upright, kisses her filthily, yanks up the back of her negligee and smacks her ass hard enough to make her yelp, before squeezing it, letting the camera move behind them. Beth gasps, plays it up, but god, the hot ache in her cunt is too loud as she moves to straddle his thigh, ready to start grinding, only this time Rio doesn’t give her the chance. He starts walking her back immediately, and her feet struggle to find the footing to follow.

They hit the back of the couch, but instead of turning her and bending her over it, Rio moves them around to the front, spins her then, and promptly sits down himself, pulling her back into his lap, and - - this isn’t - -

Beth blinks, wet lipped, the taste of Rio’s cock, his cum, still in her mouth as she’s met with the varied faces of the crew, most decked out in headphones, holding cameras or boom mics or ready with carts, and she flushes, scooting back against Rio when he pushes her a little back, away from his still-flaccid cock. Nudging his nose into her neck, he sucks his way up her shoulder, finally pushing up into her hair.

“Need a minute,” he breathes there, voice hoarse and rough and god, she thinks, he _has_ had two orgasms in maybe twenty minutes (but so has _she_ ). “Give ‘em a show instead, yeah?”

Beth blinks again, a little breathless, but awkwardly circles her hips against his, and Rio grunts, slips his hand into the neck of her negligee, over her bra, cupping her breast almost tenderly in a way that makes her hiccup. Dropping her hands down to either side of him on the couch, she sucks in a wet breath, starting to gently grind down on him, her panties so damp that the lace drags a little on his jeans, catches on the cool zip.

She gasps, only to gasp again when Rio buries his face in her neck, mouthing at her skin, the hand not kneading at her breast coming around to tug up the front of her negligee. His fingers dance across the smooth skin of her belly, making her shiver, a feeling that only increases ten-fold when he slides them instead down the front of her panties.

It’s almost too easy, to toss her head back when his fingers find her clit, circling the nub almost roughly, and god, she’s still so sensitive from his dressing room, still so raw, but she writhes beneath his touch anyway, feeling the camera glide down her body, and - - and - -

She trembles, the sensation too much.

Enough she claps her thighs together and the hand on her breast moves to clasp one of her thighs, yanking it open so hard it hurts, but any complaint dies on her tongue when he slips a finger inside her. With a keen, Beth tilts her head sideways, not even entirely realising it’s straight into his, but when he kisses her, it lights up her body, her chest lightening, her leg jumping in his hand as he bites her lower lip. With a wobbling, trembling movement, she manages to open up her other thigh until she’s practically in a yogi diamond pose on top of him, his hands working her towards an orgasm as he bites, licks, kisses his way into her mouth.

She’s so wet for him, Rio’s fingers glide easily, sinking into her pussy, fucking into her with them while his thumb works at her clit, and she’s moaning, riding his fingers in a way that she’s sure is wanton, but she can’t bring herself to care, not when he feels this good. And fuck – she’s still aching from his cock, but she wants it again, wants _him_ again, and his fingers push deeper, finding that spot inside her that makes her babble, and it’s not long until she’s coming.

Breaking the kiss to toss her head back over his shoulder again, she pants her way through her orgasm, letting Rio’s fingers work her, his other hand white knuckled in holding her thigh open for the camera, and god, she can’t help it. When she’s done, she practically collapses back against him, whining when Rio slides his fingers out of her.

She doesn’t realise what the camera’s tracking, what Rio’s _doing_ , until he’s raised his wet fingers to her lips, until he’s pushing them into her mouth and god, she’s never even thought about what she’s tasted like before, but she knows what _he_ tastes like, and she knows now what he tastes like with her _on_ him, and isn’t this just that again? Or different?

Beth clenches, because god - -

She thinks it doesn’t matter.

She wants all of it.

She closes her lips around his fingers, sucking the taste of herself off him, bobbing her head a little, feeling him hard again behind her, and - -

“And cut!”

The words are enough to make Beth startle, for Rio to promptly slide his fingers out of her mouth, to push her gently forwards so that he can slide out from underneath her, and Beth just - - blinks. Jarred. She clears her throat, raises her hands to curl her hair behind her ears, watching as Rio bounces across the set, grabbing a bottle of water and bending the director’s ear about something or other on his way.

Everything’s a sudden bustle of chatter, energy, and Beth barely has the time to process any of it when Krystal, Mindy and Lucy all settle in front of her, making quick work of fixing up her hair, make-up, lingerie – which, god, Beth must smell like - - well. She swallows thickly, still foggy with the aftershocks of her orgasm, with just - - _that_ \- - mumbles something like _hi_ , and Krystal promptly comes into view.

“Okay, I need to go on the record, and say _yes_. You are giving me _everything_ right now.”

Beth blinks up at her, still trying to make sense of her own thoughts because - - god, did she just let somebody finger her in front of an - - an _entourage_? No, she reminds herself. In front of a _camera crew_. She exhales, the sound long, hoarse, her heart thrumming through her head, and she needs to - - to - -

“Nope,” Mindy tells her, blotting the sweat off her face and touching her up with concealer. “This is a freak-out free set, babe. _Especially_ when the only thing you’ve gotta freak out about is what a hot-ass bitch you are.”

A bubble of laughter forms in Beth’s throat before she can stop it, and she shakes her head, smiling, but still – god – this - -

“Seriously,” Krystal says. “I am honestly, like, in. awe right now. You like, went _off-script_. Got Rio - - _Rio_ \- - to come _hard_ off-script. That is basically a National Treasure level adventure, and you are Nicholas Cage just like. Crushing it. Plus, you look amazing.”

Beside her, Lucy giggles, looking up at Krystal adoringly.

“That’s basically all the hair,” she says shyly, and Krystal smiles affectionately, shaking her head, contorting her face in a faux sort of outrage that just reminds Beth so much of Annie she briefly feels at home.

“Please, nobody’s looking at her hair, everyone’s looking at Beth’s bomb-ass body, or your incredible costume picks or that amazing lipstick which has somehow barely even smudged after _two_ blowjobs.”

“Is there a reason I’m last there?” Mindy asks, joking, as she touches up said lipstick, and Krystal makes a noise of outrage in the back of her throat, and Beth - -

Beth just can’t help it. Her eyes skirt sideways to where Rio’s talking to Gretchen now, his jeans open and his dick in his hand, stroking himself to get hard again, and Beth flushes, already feeling wrecked, and she’s trying to remember how many orgasms they’re supposed to have on this thing. Was it four? Five? She huffs out a breath, gaze dropping back to where Lucy’s fixing the line of her negligee, when suddenly there’s a voice over her head.

“Great work, glad we were able to get back on track,” the director tells her, and Beth looks up at him, taking in his goatee, his thin leather jacket, his eyebrow piercing as Krystal, Mindy and Lucy fuss over her. The director jerks his head back behind him in Rio’s general direction. “Was just talking to the team, and we’re thinking we pivot. Ditch the back of the couch stuff, go straight now into the over the arm of it, get your tits in frame, bouncing so much they fall out of your little bra there, then he’s gonna eat you out, fuck your tits, then we’ll do the final show up against the wall over there. That sound good to you?”

It’s offered so blasé, so seemingly off-hand, that Beth can only nod, her eyes locked over on Rio, where he’s grinning, laughing at something Gretchen’s said. She clears her throat, and the director nods, clapping a hand down on her shoulder in solidarity before he calls out:

“We ready?”

And is she? She has no idea, but Mindy, Krystal and Lucy all vanish (although not without giving her a supportive thumbs up) and Beth settles, watching as Rio saunters back over, dropping down into the seat beside her, jerking his chin. Hearing the instruction, Beth slides up, back onto his lap – his cock half-hard now, mirroring the position she was in before. Rio’s hand slides up to her mouth, and he slips his fingers back in between her lips. She blinks, feeling the heat immediately pool in her again, and god, what’s _wrong_ with her?

They’re adjusted slightly by the director before he calls action again, the cameras coming alive in front of them, and then Rio’s pulling his fingers out of her mouth, gliding them down her neck, over the pre-cum that’s still sticky on her breasts before he wipes his fingers on her negligee. It’s only seconds after that that he’s hooking his hands in the hem of it, tugging it up and over her head, dumping it over the side of the couch.

“Get up, darlin’,” he purrs and Beth finds her legs, standing up between his, trying to ignore the way the camera glides up her body – resisting the urge to cover her now bare stomach, and she’s about to move to get on all fours back on the couch when suddenly she feels a sharp pain, and just - -

She spins around, eyes wide - - did he just lean forwards and _bite her ass_?

Rio grins up at her, grabbing her hips to turn her properly around, tugging her back towards him. He instantly buries his face against her breasts, dragging his lips across the mounds, his breath warm enough that Beth shivers, before he looks up at her over them. One of the cameramen moves to stand behind her, letting the camera whir over her shoulder. It points down at Rio, catching his eyes, his perfect mouth, nipping at her breasts through the lace of her bra, and god, he looks almost _smug_ now, goading, and well, Beth thinks, two can play at that game. She sucks in a breath, eyes darting to Krystal, Mindy and Lucy at the side of the set, watching, and it’s quick – her eyes catching Lucy’s – the other woman nodding, encouraging.

She turns back to Rio, to his dark eyes, his wet lips, thinks of him mouthing at her neck, thighs, cunt. It’s enough to make her run her hands over her breasts, to watch his gaze drop.

“You want a taste, baby?” she hums, reaching for her bra strap, tugging it sideways just enough her breast frees a little over the top of the cup, and Rio watches as the pale skin is revealed, inch by tiny inch. It’s sudden, the rush of power she feels watching his gaze fix hungrily on her, and she has to temper herself, has to remind herself that this is pretend as she lifts her leg up onto the couch beside him, and then the other, moving to straddle him, leaning forwards so that he leans back.

His hands find her ass, hoisting her up so she practically falls onto him, her tits in his face, and she’s ghosting a hand down to unzip his pants, pull out his cock again. Thinks maybe she can get him off-script again, ride him here, only - - only then he’s moving.

Lightning fast, he grabs her thigh, hauling it up enough that he can slip out from underneath her, pushing her in the process in a way that makes her tumble face-first into the couch, her ass in the air. He slaps it sharply, making her yelp, before he’s leaning over her body – his chest on her back, grabbing a fistful of her hair to yank her face around towards him.

“Don’t forget who’s in charge, yeah?” he says, voice tight and low, and Beth blinks at him, but there’s a flicker in his eyes and - - and he’s in character, Beth realises. They’re supposed to be in character, and he’s a gangbanger, and she’s a housewife, and _right_.

She simpers, deliberately wanton this time, moans loud for the camera, wriggling her ass up for him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, batting her lashes. “My husband just never knows what to do with me.”

With his back to the cameras, Rio grins at her, whip fast, and something in her tightens, and only tightens more when his hand smooths back over her ass.

“He don’t know how to fuck you right,” Rio purrs, and Beth shakes her head as best she can between the couch cushions and the fist in her hair. Vaguely, behind them, Beth can see a crew member adjust his jeans. “That’s okay, baby, coz I do, yeah?”

With the words, he promptly tears her panties down her thighs, exposing her to - - to _everyone_. Heat shoots through her, and it’s humiliation but it’s also - - god, it’s also not that at all, and Beth sucks in a breath, blinks rapidly, clenches _hard_.

“You still wet for me, huh? My fingers weren’t enough to fill that pussy up.”

She shakes her head again, opens her mouth a little, moaning when he pushes two fingers in at once. He fucks them in and out of her, the squelching sound the loudest thing in this room full of people and she blinks, tightening around them.

“My cock was too much for your lil’ mouth though, wasn’t it? You suburban bitches don’t know how to take somethin’ as big as me.”

Which, okay, she squirms a little, clenching, sucks in a breath when he adds a third finger, the memory of him inside her fresh, how stretched she’d felt, how full of him.

“You can teach me,” she says, high and breathless. “You can teach me how to take it.”

It surprises him, but it’s worth it for the way his eyes glow bright, the way they gleam, and suddenly he’s pulling his fingers out of her, untangling his fingers from her hair, and she sees out of the corner of her eye as he starts to strip out of his shirt and kick off his jeans and underwear. She glances sideways, seeing the director motion for her to move, and so she gets unsteadily up onto her hands and knees, kicking her own panties off the rest of the way, and crawling up the couch until her hands are positioned on the armrest, and her ass is in the air.

She looks back over her shoulder towards him to where Rio’s cock stands to attention and just - - god, it _is_ big, she thinks. Clenching in anticipation. Under the studio lights, Rio’s skin almost appears radiant, warm and bright. He’s lean, but strong, firm almost, and Beth wets her lips, feels the camera on her, and lets her eyes glaze over with lust as the heat in her dips to swell in her cunt.

When Rio finishes undressing, he pauses for a minute, staring at her, something predatory in his look, but almost - - almost a question in it too. Like he’s trying to give her an out still, after all of this, and Beth inhales, grateful for it, but also _ready_ , and she arches her back a little in a way that sticks her breasts out to the camera and her ass out to him, and she swallows, gathers up as much confidence as she can and says:

“Come on, fuck me.”

The air in the room seems to sharpen, and Rio moves impossibly fast, panther-like in his grace behind her, climbing onto the couch. It’s almost elegant, how easily he can roll that movement into the next – lining up his cock with her and thrusting in in one long, deep stroke.

Beth cries out, the sound unable to be stifled, practically collapsing forwards on the couch arm beneath the force of it, and it takes her a minute to catch her breath. Her mouth hangs open, the feeling of so suddenly being so _full_ unlike anything else she’s ever felt.

Rio barely gives her the moment to adjust before he’s pulling out and fucking into her again, and where he’d been slow and smooth in the dressing room, now he fucks her hard and fast, a pace she finds impossible to match. Her legs wobble, almost give, and Rio grabs her hips to hold her up, only it’s more than that, it’s to hold her steady, to fuck her back onto his cock. The sensation is enough her arms shake, lower, and she can see one of the cameras there, just beneath her, can almost see the reflection of her breasts bouncing in the confines of her bra in the camera lens, only then one of Rio’s hands comes up underneath her, yanking the bra down so hard one of the straps snaps. It leaves a red welt on her shoulder, and they fuck like that for a minute before he undoes her bra properly, letting it fall to the floor beneath her.

She keens at the pain of it, the pleasure of it, clenching around his cock, eventually finding the rhythm enough to fuck back against him, and Rio’s always there to meet her. Burying himself in her, his hips snapping against her ass, his cock filling her, his grip bruising on her hips. She clenches, and Rio grunts, and then he’s humming words above her, stuff she knows is for the cameras, and she’s almost blind in the pain-pleasure of it all when she feels his hips growing erratic behind her, and then he’s coming, hot and fast inside her.

She almost sinks forwards, but one of Rio’s hands comes up to grab her breast, to pinch and tweak at her nipple in a way that shoots hot sparks through her nerves because – god, has he touched her here yet? Properly? And it’s with a gasp that she pushes up, and he lets her, rocking them backwards to catch her until her back is against his chest, his cock softening inside her. He keeps fondling her breasts as he rides out his aftershocks, and Beth feels the familiar coil of tension inside her that only makes her clench around him.

He groans, leaning forwards, breath hot against the shell of her ear.

“’m gonna lick myself outta your pussy,” he growls there, and Beth’s eyes slip shut, her whole body trembling at the words. “You like the thought of that, mama?”

She nods against his shoulder, feels the weight of him firm at her back, his cock softening inside her even as everything else about him hardens. He squeezes her breasts, drags the back of his nail over one of her pebbled nipples until she hiccups on her own breath, her arousal dripping down around his cock.

“Then I’m gonna slide my cock between these and Imma fuck them too. Maybe cum all over that pretty face of yours, yeah?”

Beth moans, breathless, feeling him squeeze her breasts, nosing against the back of her neck as he slides out of her. She keens a little at the loss, feeling Rio move behind her, turning her back to face him. Her legs making rocky work of it on the couch, her eyes latching onto him as he makes sense of it, figuring out the positioning in his own head before giving up on it all together.

Grabbing her hand, he tugs her up off the couch, walking her backwards a little and laying her down on the carpet. She goes willingly, weirdly grateful for the space (her legs were starting to cramp), feeling the weird ricochet of the crew moving across the floor as Rio practically melts over her body. He kisses her deeply, richly, perfectly, before mouthing down her neck, her now bare breast, sucking briefly at each nipple, before dipping his tongue into her belly button, rubbing his stubble hot over both her hip bones, before just - - ghosting his lips over her cunt, and god.

She’s just - -

She’s already teetering on the edge of her own climax.

She sucks in another shallow breath, her breasts heaving as she watches him look down at her, his face hot, handsome, his eyes dark. He bites his lower lip, eyes travelling down her body as he settles properly between her legs.

“You look good like this,” he hums when he settles there. “With my cum drippin’ outta you.”

He licks a red hot line up her slit, only just touching her raw clit, and Beth gasps, practically drags herself back against the carpet, and it’s enough to make Rio laugh, his hands on the backs of her thighs, pulling her back towards him, and right, Beth thinks, sinking into it, all the heat in her blooming like a bud beneath his tongue, this is probably payback for the blowjob.

She blinks, laughing a little to herself, going with it, letting herself ride his mouth despite, and hell, it’s barely a few licks before she’s toppling over the edge, still pent up from her lack of release when he fucked her. Panting furiously, she collapses back into the carpet, feeling the burn of it against her ass, ready for the director to call _cut_ when Rio lifts his head up from between her legs.

“Oh, you there already, baby?” he asks her innocently, and Beth roughly raises her head, staring back at him, her jaw setting. “Thought you said I could have a taste?”

Which - - she blinks, exhausted, shaking her head down at him.

“You’ve had a taste,” she snips, getting ready to roll away, or to coax him up, get him to the next position, when Rio just - - _grins_ at her, tightening his grip on her thighs.

“Not enough yet though, yeah? I ain’t been all up on this suburban mama pussy. Gotta develop my palette and whatnot.”

He laughs, which only makes Beth squint at him, uncertain, something in her chest fluttering, because that - - doesn’t sound like the role, that just sounds like _him_. Rio. Not gangbanger fantasy, which means he’s probably just teasing her. She moves to sit up when, quick as anything, Rio tosses her legs over his shoulders, just like he did in the dressing room, and latches his mouth back onto her clit.

Gasping, Beth’s back hits the floor hard, her hands scrambling for his head, almost wailing at the sensation, already breathless, her clit raw from - - god - - _three_ orgasms. She laughs almost hysterically, writhing away from Rio’s mouth only for him to follow, to roughen up his laps at her. He noses down, pushing his tongue into her open cunt, and she keens uselessly, tears building at the corners of her eyes because it’s too _much_ , and it’s too _good,_ as he pushes her over the edge of another orgasm.

The blood rushes in her ears as she comes down, her throat raw, and god, had she _yelled_? She thinks she might have yelled. Has she _ever_ yelled during sex before? She blinks wetly, sniffs a little, glancing down when she feels her legs slide off Rio’s firm shoulders, catching his face pop up between them, a smug look on his face, which - - well.

Beth gives him a look that earns her a laugh from him, something low and melodic, as he crawls back up her wrecked body, and she blinks, feeling him drag his hard cock back up her, and god - - how is he _hard_ again? (It’s the job, she reminds herself, but also - - _how?_ ) His big, warm hands come to cup her breasts as he straddles her ribcage, and right, Beth thinks, still fucked out, but moving her hands to hold them for him. He won’t let her though, so instead she rests her hands atop his, her own fingers feeling small, useless against his, and he wastes no time, sliding his cock between them.

There’s enough sweat there, enough smeared pre-cum, that functions well enough as lubricant, and Beth just watches as he rolls his hips into her breasts, watches him watch his cock disappear between them, his lips, nose, chin wet with her, and she feels something in her clench painfully at the thought. He’s almost hypnotised by the act of it though, the tip of his cock bobbing out the other end of her cleavage and she tilts her chin down, licks at the head. It’s enough to make him grunt, slide his cock back slower, dragging it through her breasts, his hands tightening, squeezing them harder, and this time when his tip slides out, Beth closes her mouth around it as best she can and _sucks_.

He makes a noise she’s never heard before, not even in his (other) pornos, his hips stuttering in tiny thrusts, his hands squeezing her breasts around his cock almost painfully, until he pulls it out, and off, gets on his hands and knees over her and then jerks himself off until he comes, focusing it down over her neck and chest to give her a pearl necklace.

And god, she’s never thought it was hot before, never liked it, but something about it has her panting underneath him, squirming, her cunt clenching, and maybe it’s less the act, maybe it’s more the way he’s looking at her. Like he can’t believe she’s real. Like he knows she is. Like - - like he _sees_ her, and she can’t help herself. She looks up at him, her eyes wide, dragging her fingers through the come on her chest then lifting them, not to her mouth, but to his. He grabs her wrist, stopping her.

“Didn’t you say you were going to lick yourself off me?” she hums, voice high and breathy, but his grip is firm, guiding her fingers to her own mouth. He shakes his head.

“ _Outta_ you,” he corrects, and the second her fingers are in her mouth, he’s kissing her around them, his tongue against hers, licking her fingers clean, and god, something in her feels rough, dirty, _good_ , feels too much, and she’s curling her legs around his waist when someone calls:

“Cut!”

And - -

Right.

At least she thinks she’s getting used to that.

Beth blinks, starting to peel herself away from Rio above her, and he lets her, smiling down at her, as he gets to his feet, groaning a little at the movement. He rolls his shoulders back, grinning over at somebody else, just off set, jerking his chin up, and it’s not until Lucy’s in front of them, offering them both clean robes that Beth realises it was her.

“I thought we had another scene?” Beth asks, sitting up and grabbing the robe from Lucy’s hands, as the director strides over with his assistant carrying two bottles of water.

“You do,” he answers easily, and Beth stares up at him, covering herself quickly. “Just figured the big guy here might need the recovery time. We’ll take five. Shoot the last scene, then we’ll break for lunch.”

Beth nods, and Rio starts chatting immediately to Lucy, draping the robe over himself, only tying it loosely. He cracks his back, before striding off with her towards the edge of the set, someone offering him a wet towel to clean himself with, and Beth just watches him go, swallowing thickly. It’s - - weird, she thinks.

The way he leaves her whenever they cut.

Or maybe it’s not weird? Maybe that’s normal. Protocol or something. Still, it leaves her feeling - - something. She’s not sure. She pulls the robe a little tighter around herself, then stands up, walking on wobbly legs to the edge of the set, only to be quickly intercepted by Krystal.

“You should go pee, babe,” she tells her. “Last thing you want is to leave here with a UTI, trust me. I’ve heard horror stories.”

Which - - well. Beth nods, pivoting on the spot to head down the hallway to the bathroom, ducking around crew members and harried assistants as she does. Stepping into the room, she pees quickly, awkwardly cleaning herself up in the process, her sticky thighs glistening beneath the fluorescent lights.

When she’s done, she steps back out to the sink, washing her hands, then just - - looks at herself in the mirror. She doesn’t look different exactly, but her lipstick’s smudged, her eyes wider than they’d normally be, even with her bone-aching exhaustion, and there’s cum still on her neck, chest, a little in her hair. She grabs a tissue quickly, going to wet it, only to stop because - - right. Continuity. She clears her throat, shifting her weight a little awkwardly. The aftermath weighing heavy on her shoulders.

Or - - not the aftermath.

Not yet.

God, what does she do then? Tonight? Tomorrow, when all the shootings done? What does she do first? Who will she _be_? And - -

No.

She tells herself. She can’t think about that now. She’s here, on set, with a job to do, and she needs to be on it, for the crew, for Rio.

The second she thinks of him, she sucks in a breath, remembering the way his head had bobbed up from between her legs, the look on his face, the laugh that had felt - - felt _genuine_ , the way it had tightened her chest then.

The way it does _now_.

Which - -

God.

Stop.

It’s _pretend_. He’s acting, and they’ll finish up here and this will be over, and the only reason she’s feeling anything at all is because he’s the first guy she’s had sex with in years, and - -

Right.

Beth straightens out her robe, sniffs, steeling herself.

She should get back to work.

Turning on the spot, Beth strides out of the bathroom, ready to get back onto set, ready to finish this, only to find herself suddenly yanked sideways, her back hitting the wall, and her body being closed in by another’s. She blinks, startled, only to find Rio staring down at her, a playful expression on his face that makes something in her lurch.

“’Ey,” he says, voice low and a little rough, and Beth looks up at him, her eyes wide, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Hi,” she replies, and he just - - _grins_ at her - - and before she knows it, he’s bent down to kiss her. It’s instant, the way she keens, her lips parting to let him in, and Rio takes the invitation immediately, his body shifting above her as he kisses her, hot and open mouthed. Their tongues briefly entangle, teeth clack, and god, she can taste herself on him, knows he can taste himself on her too, but there aren’t any cameras this time, not now, not lost down the hallway outside the bathroom. She moans, entwining her arms around his neck, feeling his hand slip into her robe, hold her at her waist, pressing there, and the innocence of it tightens in her too much, makes her want to keep him there, against her, just like this.

She nips at his lip, tugs at it, and he groans, delighted, sinking his hips into hers, and she can feel him – all the hard lines of him through their robes, and - - and then he pulls back, looking down at her with an expression she can’t make heads or tails of.

“Huh,” he says, and Beth just stares up at him, her eyes wide, wets her lips as Rio takes in her expression. His gaze drifts over her face, and Beth finds herself almost breathless which – god, is so _stupid_ – when suddenly his own look shifts into the one he’d had when his head was between her legs, when he was joking about _tastes_ and then he’s lifting a hand, brushing her hair back off her face, and her heart stutters at the intimacy, before he tugs on a strand, and she realises it’s the bit with his cum in it.

She flushes to the roots of her hair, opens her mouth to say something when Gretchen suddenly appears in the hallway.

“We need you back on set, guys, let’s get this moving.”

And Rio grins, shimmying a little as he looks down at Beth, and says:

“You heard her, mami, let’s get movin’.”

*

“Legs around his waist, Beth,” the director calls, and right, Beth thinks, shifting down a little, wrapping her legs back around Rio’s waist. He grins down at her, thrusts a little against her playfully, in a way that makes her hit his shoulder.

“Annnnnd _action_!”

Rio presses his lips to hers again, licking his way into her mouth, and they were only doing this minutes ago, but Beth keens all the same, feels something in her stutter, arching her back to push her breasts into his chest. He groans, rocking his hips against hers, edging his slowly hardening cock against her still-wet cunt, and she rocks her own hips down to meet his.

Finally, he gets his hands under her ass, heaving both of them up, and Beth gasps when he holds her firmly, walking them back into the wall of the set. Scrambling a little, she tries to drop her legs down to the floor, but Rio shifts his weight, shoving his knee between her legs and using it to keep her up. She stares at him, and he looks back at her, a shit eating grin on his face that he quickly hardens back into character when the camera pulls in closer, and heat shoots through her at the thought that maybe he’s enjoying this as much as she is.

Canting her hips against his, making her own friction, Rio laughs, shifting his weight below her to line his cock up with her again. 

“You just can’t get enough, can you, baby?” he hums loud for the cameras, and Beth whines, throwing her head back as Rio hikes her up, nosing against her neck, earlobe. “Ain’t you supposed to be doin’ me the favour here? Earnin’ that 300g?”

“Aren’t I earning it?” she purrs, pushing her breasts against his chest, showing off the pearl necklace he’s left her, mugging for the camera, and Rio kisses her, surging his hips up to push into her. With a gasp, she rides him hard, feeling the ache in her, the stretch briefly burning, but also - - also maybe a hunger she didn’t know she had in her sated.

He pounds her back into the wall, fucking her hard and fast, rough, his thighs strong underneath them as she curls her legs around his waist, using her grip on him to give herself momentum, leverage, the ability to alter their pace, to fuck herself back on him in a way that has her seeing stars again, and she’s already close, can feel that he is too when the door of the set cracks open and the extra who plays her husband steps in with a: 

“Honey, I’m home!”

And god, it’s not even _him_ , but he sounds just enough like Dean that everything in her tightens, any semblance of control over herself snapping, and he hasn’t even touched her clit this time and she’s coming, moaning _loud_. Rio’s laughing into her neck, grabbing her ass harder, leaning back a little and fucking her wildly, giving both the camera and the extra a clean view of her, and the guy’s babbling out his lines, gormless and useless, just like - - and Beth shivers wildly, rides her orgasm out as Rio finally climaxes with his.

She collapses, boneless into the wall as Rio pulls out of her, lowering her gently to her feet, the carpet rough at her toes, before he moves off of her entirely. It takes her a minute to catch her own breath, the extra hollering, “That’s my wife!” in the background in a way too easy to ignore, but Rio grins at him all the same, smug, as he languidly gets dressed.

And that at least gives her the cue to stumble around the room for her robe, the cameras whirring around her, and she’s sure to put as much of a bounce in her step as she can to make her body - - well - - _jiggle_. When she’s found it, still crumpled by the door, she wraps it around herself, leaving ample cleavage showing in the process.

“Yeah, and your debt’s paid, man. For this month anyway,” Rio says, slapping a hand down on the guy’s shoulder as he passes him. He stops by Beth at the door, grabbing her ass and kissing her roughly, quickly, before striding out the fake door, as Beth twirls her sticky hair around her finger, bends her knee in faux innocence, watching as her fake husband looks between her and the door and - -

“Cut! Terrific work, everyone. Okay, let’s break for lunch and then I want to take it from the couch lap dance again. Make it a little more of a lap dance, get some good close ups of the fingering. Lucy, can we get Beth in one of the other sets, these ones are done. Krystal, can you get onto Beth’s hair while Lucy preps?”

And before she can so much as take a breath, she’s whisked away.

*

She’s still practically melted into the small, padded chair of her dressing room, hair wet from her shower and body boneless in her sweats and hoodie, when her cell phone buzzes, Ruby’s number blearing up at her from the screen.

Taking a breath, Beth answers, holding the thing to her ear, head sinking back onto the chair so she doesn’t have to hold it up herself.

“Hi,” she says, and she smiles to herself when Ruby exhales a sigh of relief.

“Hi,” Ruby replies, before covering her mouthpiece so badly that Beth can perfectly hear Ruby say: “I’m talking to her now, you’re good.”

There’s a muffled rustling when Ruby comes back on.

“I had Stan pull up his contact at the police station, ready to dial if you didn’t answer,” Ruby tells her, and Beth wrinkles her nose, laughing. “Wait, you’re okay, right? I can let him go?”

“You can let him go,” Beth says, stretching out a little in her chair. “I’m alive.”

“And well?”

“And sore,” Beth replies, shifting back in the seat, before quickly interjecting: “Good sore. Or. I mean. Not bad sore.”

“Sexy sore,” Ruby corrects, and Beth laughs again.

“I’m not sure how sexy it was after the sixth time. More - - mechanical.”

“B, I’m amazed it wasn’t after the third,” Ruby says, impressed, and Beth flushes, laughing again. “Okay, on a scale of one to ten, how good is he?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Oh, you _absolutely_ are.”

Beth rolls her eyes, peeling out of her chair, starting to toss the last of her things back in her bag. She probably should head home. She _needs_ a bourbon, and – ooo – maybe a bath? Annie had helped the kids pick out some bath bombs for Mother’s Day that she hadn’t tried yet, and well, speaking of both, Annie _had_ taken the kids to hers for the night. She hums, delighted at the thought, but the second she gets to her feet, slinging the bag up with her, she groans, long and loud.

“You okay?” Ruby asks, and god, is she?

“Everything _hurts_ ,” she replies, and Ruby just laughs, the line crackling between them.

“I bet,” she replies. “I’ll come over tomorrow night when you’re done. Bring that weird massage roller the kids got me for Christmas too. I mean, it’s not great, but it’s better than nothing.”

Beth hums in gratitude, heading out of her dressing room. She waves goodbye for the day to Dorothy, and then Mindy, then Lucy and Krystal, who are chatting down by craft services, and she’s about to leave the soundstage only to get waved down briefly by Gretchen. Beth stops in her tracks, says a quick _see you then_ to Ruby and hangs up as Gretchen walks over.

“Hey, I’m just heading off. Is that okay?” she asks, and Gretchen smiles warmly at her, nodding.

“Of course, just wanted to say well done, and thanks for today.”

The words curl warmly in her chest – strangely – because, god, she can’t remember the last time someone said _well done_ to her. Can’t remember the last time she really felt like she _had_ done well. Had done _enough_. She shifts her weight back a bit, pulling her bag up over her shoulder, smiling back at Gretchen.

“I should be thanking you for the opportunity.”

Gretchen just shrugs, holding up her hands.

“Stop. Take the compliment. Trust me, you have no idea how grateful I am. I don’t know how you did it, but you got him to work again.”

Which - - Beth blinks, heat finding her cheeks. She looks a little bashful, shaking her head, shuffling a little on the spot.

“I don’t think it was really me,” she says, and Gretchen only smiles again, placating.

“Well, we can agree to disagree. I know you still have another day until your done, but I spoke to accounts and had them release the second half of your payment tonight, so that should clear tomorrow.”

It takes Beth a minute to process it, her head still foggy from the day, and the moment she does she jerks her head back a little in surprise.

“What?”

“Thought I’d give you a head start on your business,” Gretchen says with a wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, Gretchen peels off, back across the soundstage, and it takes a moment again for Beth to process it all, for her head to realise the implication, and she bounces up a little on her toes, calls out a: “Thank you!” loud across the lot, and just - -

Beth _smiles_ , wide, and open, so open she feels like her face might break in half, and she practically floats her exhausted body out of the building, her head brimming with the success of it all, with the _possibilities_ , with the future opening up for her, with the one she’s making herself _for_ herself, for her babies, for all of them.

The parking lot is quiet as she steps out into it, the dark of the night resting like a blanket across the bitumen, the moon luminous in its waxing above her She can hear the thrum of close-by cicadas, the distant highway, the early calls of nighttime birds. Soon, she’ll hear her children, she thinks, taking out her cell, ready to dial Annie’s number, only to get to her car and stop.

“How’d you even know this was my car?” she asks, amused more than anything at Rio’s long form leaning back against her car door. He’s changed since she last saw him – into a pair of jeans, a dark grey t-shirt, a pair of sneakers. His own idea of comfy, she supposes, a far cry from her own sweatpants and hoodie. He pops an eyebrow at her, looking pointedly around the carpark.

“You see another mama van in this parkin’ lot? Nothin’ else here carting around four kids.”

She gives him a look like touché, popping the trunk and dropping her bag into it. It’s strange, how much today has changed, she thinks. God, she can’t imagine the levels of anxiety him watching her pack up her car would’ve had this morning, but now there’s something almost peaceful about it. Languid and easy, as his eyes follow her movements, taking in the basic routine of it.

Closing the trunk, she starts towards the driver’s seat, about to ask if he needs a ride somewhere when he leans back against her car door, tilting slightly towards her. 

“Don’t know ‘bout you, but I could use a drink,” he drawls, and Beth looks over at him, her face twisted in surprise, before finally she snorts, shaking her head at him, amused.

“Hm, I don’t know about that. The way I remember it, the _last_ time you wanted to drink beside me. You were kind of an asshole.”

He shrugs, unbothered.

“Wouldn’t be drinkin’ beside you this time, we’d be drinkin’ together.”

The distinction is an odd one, but the look on his face lends it a sort of weight that makes her pause, her amusement fluctuating, but not shedding, even as she just sort of stares at him. After a minute, she gestures down to herself – from her wet hair to her ugly sweatpants:

“Do I look like I’m ready for a night on the town?”

And well, at least that makes him laugh, bury his hands in the pockets of his jeans, roll slightly against her car door to face her.

“Doesn’t have to be on the town,” he says, and Beth arches an eyebrow. “’m happy to go back to your place. Bet you got those kids at their daddy’s.”

Which - - Beth stares, eyes wide in disbelief, because - -

“You cannot possibly want to have sex right now,” she tells him, which is enough to make him laugh, drop his head, shoulders shaking a little. “And given we have to do all this again tomorrow - - ” 

“It’s just a drink, Elizabeth.”

His gaze finds hers again, and gone is the playfulness, the mockery, the intensity, the anger. In its place is just - - just _him_. His eyes dark, face angled, handsome, sharp, and the perfect curve of his body offered like an invitation, like - - like - -

A possibility.

She wets her lips, remembers the taste of him on them, remembers him kissing her outside the bathroom, and she should say no.

Should tell him exactly what a bad idea that sounded like, but then - - all of this had, and it hadn’t been bad yet.

“You have your car here?”

The question makes him part his lips, nod slowly, gesturing with a jerk of his head to the ridiculous looking black jeep behind him, and Beth nods, moving to open her car door.

“You know how to follow?” she asks him, and he grins, dart sharp.

“Not as well as you, mami,” he hums, rocking slightly closer in a way that makes her suck in a breath, before turning around, and striding out towards his jeep and - -

Well.

He follows her home.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Pornstar' by Amy Meredith. 
> 
> I did SO MUCH research for this, including listening to podcasts, reading interviews, and starting a porn agency application so that I knew what questions they asked, haha, so I hope that comes across. ;-)


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